Ai  stmf  solitary  I'nsL  Office  in  thx  Cabm  ef 
he  lays  the  rem  open  his  saddlebm,  &  reads  tfie 
rest,  wiilkt  slowly   throagh  thf  foreit 


Prndieton,  Boston. 


settler,  he  finds    a  letter  Jrom  home,  i 
irme  pafes,  »Me  his  horse  willmtj  to 


THE 


OR, 

tt)e  (iri|risfiaiT(!ri)aractfrJikttta 


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befbre/jrouy- 


lVi]LJ.iAM  ]Pbii.cb,9  CoioiimLiL.. 


THE 


WAY  TO   DO   GOOD 


oa  TH« 


CHRISTIAN    CHARACTER    MATURE. 


THE   «EaUEL    TO 


YOUNG  CHRISTIAN  AND  CORNER-STONE. 


BY  JACOB  ABBOTT. 


S^^  vms*^ 


THB 


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BOSTON: 

PUBLISHED    BY  WILLIAM    PEIRCE. 

18S6. 


yfrdyi 


Entered,  according  to  Act  of  Congress,  in  the  year  1836,  by 

WILLIAM   PEIRCE, 

in  the  Clerk's  Oflice  of  the  District  Court  of  the  District  of  Massachusetts. 


STERBOTYFEb   BY  T.  G.  WELLS  &  Co. 
ffOSTON. 


PREFACE. 

Upon  the  Corner-Stone  of  faith  in  Jesus  Christ,  as  the 
atoning  sacrifice  for  sin,  there  is  reared  the  superstruc- 
ture of  holy  life  and  action;  and  a  holy  life,  is  one  which, 
from  the  impulse  of  love  to  God,  is  occupied  in  doing  good 
to  man.  The  Young  Christian  was  intended  to  introduce 
the  reader  to  the  first  steps  of  the  Christian  life  ;  the 
Corner-Stone  to  explain  some  of  the  simpler  elements  of 
revealed  religion;  and  now  this  work  is  intended  to  close 
the  series,  by  giving  the  reader  some  general  directions  in 
respect  to  the  great  work  which  God  has  given  him  here 
to  do. 

In  thus  bringing  this  series  of  Illustrations  of  Christ- 
ianity to  a  close,  I  cannot  but  express  my  acknowledg- 
ments for  the  favorable  manner  with  which  the  community 
has  receivedithese  humble  attempts  to  divest  religion  of  its  f   ^^ 
theological  and  scholastic  garb,   and  to   present  it  in  its   j 
simplicity,  to  the  common  classes  of  society,  i   I  have  been"^ 
indebted  to  the  criticisms  which  the  former  volumes  have 
called  forth,  for  many  valuable  suggestions,  of  which  I  have 
availed  myself  in  the  later  editions  of  those  volumes,  apd 
sometimes  in  the  trains  of  thought  pursued  in  this.     Now, 
however,  although  I  bring  the  series  to  a  close,  the  reader 
must  not  expect  to  find  that  the  whole  ground  is  explored, 
nor  complain  if  he  finds  many  important  subjects  wholly 
omitted.     To  go  over  the  whole  field  of  religious  truth  and 
duty,  as  minutely  as   I  have  examined   those   particular 


IV  FREFACE. 

views  of  it  which  are  brought  forward  in  this  work,  would 
require  a  hundred  volumes  instead  of  three.  I  hope, 
therefore,  that  the  critic  will  not  charge  me  with  culpable 
omissions,  even  if  he  should  find  some  important  subjects 
not  treated  of  in  these  volumes. 

There  is  one  subject  to  which  I  wish  the  above  remarks 
to  be  especially  applied.  I  mean  the  great  subject  of 
'progress  in  personal  holiness  I  should  be  very  sorry,  if, 
by  devoting  my  concluding  volume  to  instructions  on  the 
Way  to  Do  Good,  I  should  convey  the  idea  that  the 
proper  performance  of  outward  acts  of  benevolence  con- 
stitutes the  sole,  or  even  the  principal  work  of  the  Christian 
life.  To  describe  the  believer's  inward  conflicts  with  sin, 
his  trials,  and  temptations,  and  struggles;  his  fears,  and 
hopes,  and  joys;  to  delineate,  in  a  word,  the  road  by  which 
he  finds  his  way  from  step  to  step,  to  the  highest  degree  of 
personal  sanctification  attainable  here,  is  a  task  of  a  very 
far  higher  character  than  any  which  I  have  attempted  in 
these  volumes.  That  road  is  one  which  can  be  described 
only  by  one  who  has  travelled  it;  and  years  of  extended 
Christian  experience,  or  else  very  uncommon  spiritual 
qualifications,  could  alone  justify  the  attempt. 

Though  these  works  are  thus  necessarily  limited  in 
respect  to  their  range,  I  have  endeavored  to  exhibit  nothing 
in  them  but  truth.  I  have  endeavored  to  exhibit  that  truth 
too,  which  is  most  obvious,  and  most  important  in  its  bear- 
ings ;  and  which  may  have  the  most  immediate  and  direct 
influence  upon   the   feelings   of  the   heart,  in   promoting 

intelligent,  devoted  and  happy  piety. 

THE   AUTHOR. 


CONTENTS. 


CHAPTER  L— WORKS  AND  FAITH,  OR  THE  STORY  OF  ALONZO. 

Works  and  Faith.  Alonzo's  home.  The  farm-yard.  Occupations  of 
childhood.  The  phenomenon.  A  struggle.  Dialogue  with  con- 
science. Early  sin.  Its  nature.  Self  deception.  A  second  trans- 
gression. Progress  in  sin.  The  heart  deceitful  above  all  things. 
Progress.  Influence  of  education.  Alonzo's  virtues.  His  piety. 
The  way  to  manage  conscience.  Alonzo's  discovery.  Asking  mother. 
Maternal  firmness.  Effects.  The  seat  in  the  orcliard.  Conflicting 
emotions.  Healing  the  hurt  slightly.  Alonzo's  opinio.!  of  himself. 
An  incident.  The  walk  through  the  woods.  Conversation.  The 
books  in  the  satchel.  Motives.  An  exposure.  The  teacher's  que- 
ries. Alonzo's  perplexity.  His  reflections.  Alonzo's  virtues  not 
genuine.  Summary  of  Alonzo's  character.  His  occupations  and 
pleasures.  Character  of  his  prayers.  The  evening  meeting.  Set- 
ting off.  Nine  o'clock.  The  Holy  Spirit.  Morning  cloud  and 
early  dew.  Wandering  tlioughts.  Concealment.  Slow  progress. 
Alonzo  like  the  water  skipper.  Difficulties.  Resolutions.  Hop- 
ing for  a  more  convenient  season.  Alonzo's  new  home.  Prepara- 
tions. Taking  possession.  A  hard  duty.  Conscience  again.  No 
gain  in  delay.  The  inquiry  meeting.  Scene.  The  Pastor's  remarks. 
Common  mistakes  made.  Difference  between  understanding  and 
feeling.  Spurious  gratitude.  Indications  of  enmity.  Alonzo's  self 
application  The  closing  prayer.  Alonzo  in  deeper  difficulty  than 
ever.  "  Sin  revived."  Conviction  not  conversion.  Alonzo's  ex- 
cuses and  difficulties.  His  heart.  Helplessness.  Struggling  with 
sin.  Beginning  life  anew,  a  vain  wish.  Self  righteousness.  Re- 
pairing an  old  house.  The  parallel  case.  The  true  way  of  salva- 
tion. Alonzo  renewed.  His  walk  home.  New  desires.  The  great 
cliange.     Created  anew.     Address  to  the  reader.     Conclusion.  13 


CHAPTER  n.— MOTIVES. 


Motives.     Happiness  secured  by  Doing  Good.     Scene  at  home.     The 

,         stormy  evening.     Enjoyments.     Another   plan.     The   walk.     The 

sick  boy.     Enjoyment  of  another  kind.     The  return.     Happiness 

-secured  though  not  directly  sought.     Various  motives  :  perhaps  not 


▼I  CONTENTS^. 

wliolly  wrong.  Sentimental  feeling.  Illustration;  Another  case^ 
Principle.  Nature  of  it.  Policy.  An  Allegoiy.  A  scene  in  the 
evening.  Conversation.  A  wretched  fireside.  Effect  of  sympathy. 
Feeling  and  principle  contrasted.  Feelii^  unsteady ;  fickle ;  incon- 
siderate. Deficiencies  of  mere  feeling.  Principle.  Principle  per- 
severing; systematic;  a  cooperator  with  God.  Analysis  of  our 
benevolent  acts.  The  way  to  test  the  real  motives.  Character  of 
the  benevolence  of  God.  Plans  to  promote  happiness.  Simple 
sources  of  pleasure.  The  snow.  Running  water.  Emotions  awak- 
ened by  them.  Various  sources  of  enjoyment.  Higher  pleasures. 
Employment.  The  merchant's  counting-room.  The  pleasure  of 
invention  and  construction.  Higher  enjoyments  still.  Love.  Union. 
The  institution  of  tlie  family.  Its  firm  foundations.  God's  plans 
for  preventing  sin.  The  sufferings  of  sin  the  most  intolerabW 
The  most  incurable.  Illustration.  Character  of  the  divine  benevo- 
lence.    Cooperation  witli  God.  50 


CHAPTER   III— OURSELVES. 

Personal  happiness.  A  distinction.  Love  of  fame  or  of  power  distinct 
from  love  of  happiness.  Love  of  happiness  often  overpowered. 
The  merchants.  Happy  rather  than  rich.  Questions  to  the  reader. 
Thorough  repentance  and  conversion.  A  common  case.  Incipient 
neglect  of  prayer.  Backsliding.  The  usual  steps.  Necessity  of 
entire  reconciliation  with  God.  2.  Order  in  worldly  affairs.  Effects 
of  system.  Histoiy  of  James.  His  morning's  duties.  Pi'ocrasti- 
nation.  Its  folly.  James's  sufferings,  Shiftlessness ; — disorder;— 
confusion, — and  misery.  James's  character.  Settled  and  perma- 
nent unhappiness.  The  application.  Necessary  condition  of  hap- 
piness. The  master  of  a  family.  Regulation,  The  mistress. 
Drawers  and  closets.  Order,  Review  and  arrangement  of  du- 
ties. Peace  of  mind.  Advice  to  a  school-boy.  Desks,  drawers, 
implements,  books.  The  man  of  business.  Unsettled  accounts  j 
unfinished  plans.  Selection  of  objects.  Expenses'  and  pecuniary 
liabilities.  Pecuniary  embarrassment.  Way  to  avoid.  Conten- 
tions The  ChristPin  principle.  Conflicting  claims.  Non-resist- 
ance Isaac's  principle.  Effects  of  opposition  and  contention, 
Defencelessncss,  Tlie  Indiam  An  objection.  Tlie  question  of 
Avar,  Occasions  of  contention.  Case  supposed.  The  travellers 
and  their  guide.  The  Christian  principle.  The  worldly  principle. 
Way  in  which  quarrels  originate.  Our  Savior's  precept.  Misery 
of  contention.  Way  to  avoid  it.  Repining  against  God.  Losses. 
Disappointments.  Joseph's  case.  Lesson  to  be  learned  from  it. 
Purposes  of  sickness.  The  sick  mother.  The  man  of  business. 
The  sick  child.     Duty  of  submission.     The  respensibility  of  the 


CONTENTS.  tU 

decision.    The  mother  and  the  sick  child.    Restless  repining.    Sum- 
mary of  the  chapter.  73 


CHAPTER   IV.— THE  POOR. 


Common  idea  of  giving  to  the  poor.  Causes  of  poverty.  Exceptions. 
An  example.  Tlie  child.  Its  value.  Vice  and  misery.  What 
can  be  done  1  Effect  of  charitable  aid.  The  wicked  woman's  plan 
of  life.  Treating  symptoms.  Another  scene.  The  little  beggar. 
Misery  not  innocence.  The  return.  A  hopeless  case.  Reflections. 
Character.  The  way  to  save  mankind.  Sentimental  feeling.  Some 
cases  of  virtuous  poverty.  These  exceptions  rare.  First  direction. 
Suffering  vice  and  suffering  virtue.  A  caution.  Suffering  virtue  un- 
common.  Artificcsof  the  vicious.  Hypocrisy.  Danger  of  deceiving 
ourselves.  The  stage-driver.  The  power  of  habit.  Third  rule. 
Danger  of  overdoing.  Encourage  exertion.  Illustration.  Effects  of 
profusion.  Danger  of  envy  and  jealousy.  The  benevolence  of  the 
poor.  The  right  way.  Profuse  benefactions.  A  case.  The  cabin. 
Description  of  the  interior.  The  physician's  visit.  A  mediation. 
The  wise  course.  Last  direction.  Public  charity.  Its  abuses. 
Cause  of  pauperism.  Its  remedy.  Too  much  ignorant  labor. 
Conclusion.  110 


CHAPTER  v.— PROMOTION  OF  PERSONAL  PIETY. 

Connection  between  sin  and  suffering.  Divine  and  human  benevolence. 
Expectations  of  the  young.  The  only  way  to  do  real  and  perma- 
nent good.  PoAver  of  moral  sympathy.  Experiment  wMth  a  child. 
The  power  of  persuasion  and  of  sympathy  compared.  The  child- 
ren in  a  thunder-storm.  Light;  salt;  leaven.  The  Savior's  moral 
power.  Sermons.  The  mother.  The  way  by  which  religion  is  tof 
be  spread. 

I.  The  Preparation.     Honesty.     Assumed  interest  in  religion.     Interest 

in  human  salvation.  Companions;  friends;  neighbors.  Prayer. 
A  test  of  sincere  prayer.  Religious  emotion.  Nature  and  prov- 
ince of  it.  Illustration.  The  traveller  at  the  West.  His  letter. 
Emotion.  Conditionsof  religious  emotion.  Wasted  efforts.  Strug- 
gling for  feeling.  The  agency  of  the  Holy  Spirit.  Greatness  of 
the  change.     Difficulties.     Walk  softly. 

II.  The  Measures.  Examination  of  the  gi'ound.  Popularity  of  our  Savior** 

preaching.  Limitation  of  the  principle.  Estimation  of  virtue  in 
this  world.  Comnfon  impression.  A  distinction.  We  must  expect 
a  welcome.  Favorable  opportunities.  Artifice.  Anonymous  let- 
ters.    Courtesies    of  social    life.     Discussions.     Truth    spiritually 


Vlll  CONTENTS. 

discerned*  Examples.  Effect  of  a  discussion.  A  common  error. 
Degree  of  knowledge  necessai-y  to  salvation.  A  dialogue.  Investi- 
gation not  the  first  duty.  Tiie  difficulty  in  the  heart.  Another  case. 
A  proposed  argument.  Its  uselessness.  The  proper  course.  Aim 
to  produce  conviction  of  sin.  Means  of  grace.  Common  impres- 
sion;— groundless.  Immediate  action.  Religious  duties  of  the  im- 
penitent. Instructions  of  the  bible.  Paul's  case.  General  direc- 
tions. Philosophy  of  human  nature.  Immediate  duty.  Promote 
a  veiy  thorough  change.  Approximation  desirable.  It  lessens 
danger,  though  not  guilt.  Cases.  A  family  brought  near.  Ap- 
proximation to  right  opinions.  The  greatest  error  the  most  danger- 
ous. Caution.  Dependence  on  divine  influences.  Perfection  of 
uature,  and  moral  ruin  of  man.     Man  a  moral  wreck.  133 


CHAPTER  VI.— PUBLIC  MORALS. 

Influence  of  Christianity  on  the  community.  Christian  and  Pagan  coun- 
tries. Crime  and  punishment  in  Boston.  Crime  and  punishment 
in  Constantinople.  The  Cliristian's  appropriate  work.  Relation 
to  tlie  community.  A  common  scene  at  home.  P.e):§uasion.  Christ- 
ians in  the  minority.  No  hope  from  open  war.  Weakened  by  in- 
testine divisions.  Denominational  jealousies.  Drawing  lines,  and 
setting  the  battle  in  array.  A  wrong  spirit.  Its  effects.  The  true 
tacticfii.  Wrong  feelings.  Censoriousness.  Party  spirit.  Anger 
and  irritation.  True  sorrow  for  sin.  Example  of  Jesus  Christ. 
Self  deception.  The  public  conscience.  A  criiel  master.  Means 
of  awakening  moral  sentiment.  Excessive  zeal.  The  true  field  of 
Christian  labor.  Political  evils  and  their  remedy.  Forms  of  gov- 
ernment. Spread  of  individual  virtue.  France  and  New  England. 
The  true  support  of  despotism.  The  Christian  citizen.  Progress 
of  Chiistianity.  172 


CHAPTER  VII.— TIIE   CHURCH  AND   CHRISTIAN  UNION. 

The  plan  of  the  Savior.  He  founded  a  church.  Various  branches. 
Dissensions  among  them.  Religious  party  spirit.  Two  ways  to 
make  peace.  Union  of  Christians  necessary.  Subordinate  place 
of  forms.  Attachments  to  them.  The  eight  propositions.  Chan- 
ges. Times  of  Abraham,  Moses  and  David.  Time  of  tlie  Savior. 
His  ecclesiastical  polity.  Ecclesiastical  polity  of  the  apostles. 
Apostolic  arrangements  provisional.  Election.  Ordinations.  The 
general  council.  Description  of  usages.  Levitical  law.  Fourth 
commandment.  Not  strictly  observed.  Ordination.  Ordination 
of  the  twelve:  of  Paul.     Ceremony  waived,  and  why.     Paul  not 


CONTENTS.  IX 

ordained  by  Ananias.  ApoIIos.  The  ceremony  of  ordination,  a 
specimen.  Apostolic  practice  not  infallible.  Distinction  between 
writings  and  acts.  Apostolic  example  of  great  value.  Scripture  sys- 
tem incomplete.  Congregational  additions ; — episcopal.  The  most 
essential  points  unprovided  for.  Possible  pei'version  of  tliese  views. 
The  marriage  ceremony.  Rite  of  confirmation.  Danger  of  one 
consolidated  government.  Sanction  of  God's  Spirit.  The  result. 
Present  state  of  tlie  church.  Cities;  villages.  The  real  difficulty. 
Permanence  of  it.  The  disease  an  intermittent.  Hot  fit  and  cold 
fit.  The  old  texts.  The  only  remedy  for  tlie  evil.  Prospect  of  a 
change.  Summing  up  the  case.  Spiritual  integi'ity  of  the  chm-ch. 
Conclusion.  192 


CHAPTER  VIII.— THE  SICK. 


Flan  of  this  work.  Safe  to  do  good  to  the  sick.  The  sick  laborer. 
Good  easily  and  safely  done.  The  child.  Happiness.  Old  age 
Consumption  and  her  victims.  The  family  and  friends  of  the  sick 
Cases.  A  family  changed.  A  danger  pointed  out.  Spiritual  good 
of  the  patient.  Dangers.  Various  classes.  Deceptions  of  friends. 
Indifference  and  stupor.  The  deceived.  Nervous  influence  of  sick- 
ness. The  attendant  of  piety;  its  counterfeit.  Little  Nathan 
Dickerman.     Practical  rules.     Imposture.     Necessity  of  caution. 

Qllietneee     and     dclioaoy.         Tho     okilful     att«>nrlaiat  StUlnAoo     anA 

gentleness.  Honesty.  Manoeuvring.  A  case  of  it.  Its  efiects. 
Plain  dealing  safer.  Frankness.  Pi'ivileged  persons.  Quiet  for 
the  sick.  Real  object  to  be  accomplished.  Truth  to  be  presented 
quietly.  A  change  of  heart.  The  Savior.  John  Randolph.  Re- 
morse. An  atonement.  Questioning  the  patient.  Difficulty  of 
judging;  Faint  hope  of  success.  The  sick  Christian.  How  de- 
cline. Expressions  of  piety  by  the  sick.  Professions.  Authority 
of  physician.     Limits  and  restrictions.     Conclusion.  227 


CHAPTER  IX.— CHILDREN. 

A  supposition.  The  infants.  Effect  of  education.  Education  of  cir- 
cumstances. Instructions  not  exclusively  for  parents.  Influence 
of  relatives.     The  worsted  pocketbook.     Plan  of  the  chapter. 

I.  Prominent  Characteristics  of  Childhood.  -Mental  processes.  Pleas- 
ure of  action.  Understanding  language.  Stories.  Stories  for 
cliildren.  Source  of  pleasure.  Love  of  employment.  An  offer  and 
the  choice.  Counting.  Steps  minute  and  simple.  Make  work  for 
children.  Second  principle.  "  More  stories."  Subjects  for  talk. 
Every  thing  new.    Tlie  sand-box.    Talk  about  it.    A  thousand 


Z  CONTENTS 

subjects.  Describe  any  thing  to  children.  The  way  to  tell  stories. 
A  specimen.  Subjects.  Fiction.  A  danger.  Is  fiction  allowable 
at  all  1  The  true  line  to  be  di-awn.  The  senses  the  avenue.  Ex- 
ample. Generalization  and  abstraction.  Minute  details.  An 
example.  The  boat.  Explain  minutely.  The  black  sand.  Style 
abrupt.  Tones.  Gesticulations.  The  man  and  his  dog  again. 
Third  characteristic  of  childhood.  Conditions  of  gratitude.  The 
way  to  a  child's  heart.  Reasoning  with  children.  The  baby's 
name.  The  logic  of  childhood.  Power  of  association.  Common 
failure.  The  father.  Power  of  affection. 
II.  Practical  Directions.  The  field.  Influence  to  be  sought.  The  pa- 
rent disappointed.  Brothers  and  sisters.  Indulgence.  Presents. 
Decision  and  firmness.  The  way  to  gain  an  influence.  Way  to 
use  it.  Expression  of  the  truth.  The  winter  walk  and  the  snow 
bird.  The  expression  of  kindness  or  of  cruelty.  Formal  instruc- 
tion. Solitude.  Influence  of  man  upon  man.  Solitude.  Learn- 
ing by  experience.     Recapitulation.  259 


CHAPTER  X.— INSTRUCTION. 

Instruction.  Plan  of  the  chapter.  Five  propositions.  Mode  of  divine 
instruction.  Our  methods.  The  contrast.  Reason  for  it.  Ilhis- 
tration.  Botany.  The  two  students.  The  thistle.  The  rose. 
Nature  and  use  of  science  and  system.  The  theologians.  Province 
and  value  of  theological  science.  Systematic  education.  The  Bible 
the  storehouse.  Korab.  Korah's  mutiny.  The  parties.  Their 
designs.  Conversation  with  Korah.  A  coincidence.  Dathan  and 
Abiram.  Their  reply.  Moral  lessons  to  be  deduced.  Various 
questions.  Two  kinds  of  interest  in  a  story.  Example.  Job. 
The  dramatic  interest.  The  moral  interest.  Both  combined. 
Third  general  head.  Observation.  Eflect  of  a  habit  of  observa- 
tion. Refined  and  vulgar  taste.  The  evidence  for  moral  truth. 
Mathematical  truth.  A  difference  between  intellectual  and  moral 
science.  Apparent  exceptions.  Proof  of  Christianity.  Pi'oof  by 
experiment.  Illustrations.  Difficulty  of  sound  induction.  Truth 
accessible.  Arguing  with  error.  First  case.  Another  case. 
Great  forces  to  be  overcome,  Dangers.  Practical  directions. 
The  strange  light.  Two  ways  of  combatting  error.  Collisions. 
Misunderstandings.  Sympathy.  Effects  of  disputation.  Exagger- 
ation. Defending  error,  and  its  effects.  Deal  in  great  arguments, 
uot  in  minute  details.  Faint  hopes  of  success.  Classes  of  reason- 
crs.  Way  in  which  human  opinions  are  formed.  Result  of  the 
•*»<nia3ion.  Grounds  of  human  belief.  The  way  to  spread  the 
'  f^tfl     Infidelity.    It§  spirit.    Voltaire,  300 


CONTENTS.  XI 


CHAPTER  XL— CONCLUSION. 


Conclusion.  Plan  completed.  Recapitulation.  Views  of  God.  Pan- 
theism. Of  sin.  The  slavery  of  sin.  Freedom.  Bondage.  Un- 
limited freedom.  The  difficulty.  Suffering.  Existence  of  suffer- 
ing inexplicable.  Christ  the  atoning  sacrifice.  The  way  of  peace. 
The  soul  thirsts  for  it.  Difficulties.  Disposal  of  the  difficulties. 
The  church  and  the  denominations.  Various  modes  of  doing  good. 
The  author's  farewell. 


THE 

WAY    TO    DO    GOOD, 


CHAPTER  L 

WORKS  AND  FAITH,  OR   THE   STORY  OF  ALONZO. 
*'  Created  In  Christ  Jesus  unto  good  works." 

Works  and  Faith.  Alonzo's  home.  The  farm-yard. 

The  exact  nature  of  the  connection  which  subsists  be- 
tween faith  and  good  works,  in  the  salvation  of  man,  is  a 
subject,  which,  in  a  volume  on  The  Way  to  Do  Good, 
ought  to  be  well  understood  at  the  outset.  I  can  best 
convey  to  my  young  reader  what  I  wish  to  say  on  this 
point,  by  telling  him  the  story  of  Alonzo. 

Alonzo  was  a  Vermont  boy.  His  father  lived  in  one  of 
those  warm  and  verdant  dells  which  give  a  charm  to  the 
scenery  of  the  Green  Mountains.  The  low,  broad  farm- 
house, with  its  barns  and  sheds,  hay-stacks  and  high  wood 
piles,  made  almost  a  little  village,  as  they  lay  spread  out  in 
a  sunny  opening  near  the  head  of  the  glen.  A  winding 
road  repeatedly  crossing  a  brook  which  meandered  among 
the  trees,  down  the  valley,  guidtjd  the  traveller  to  the  spot. 
The  wide  yard  was  filled  with  domestic  animals,  the  sheds 
were  well  stored  with  the  utensils  of  the  farm,  lilac  trees 
and  rose  bushes  ornamented  the  front  of  the  dwelling,  and 
from  the  midst  of  a  little  green  lawn  upon  one  side  of  the 
house,  was  a  deep  clear  spring,  walled  in  with  moss  cov- 
ered stones,  and  pouring  up  continually  from  below,  a  full 
supply  of  cool,  clear  water.  A  group  of  willows  hung  over 
the  spring,  and  a  well-trod  foot  path  led  to  it  from  the  house. 


14  THE    WAY   TO    DO    GOOD.  [Ch.   1. 

Occupations  of  childhood.  The  phenomenon.  A  struggle. 

A  smooth  flat  stone  lay  before  the  "  end  door,"  as  they 
called  it,  which  led  to  the  spring.  Here,  during  the 
second  year  of  his  life,  Alonzo  might  have  been  seen 
almost  every  sunny  day,  playing  with  buttercups  and  dai- 
sies, or  digging  with  the  kitchen  shovel  in  the  earth  before 
the  door,  or  building  houses  of  corn-cobs,  brought  for  his 
amusement,  in  a  basket,  from  the  granary.  The  next 
summer,  had  you  watched  him,  you  would  have  observed 
that  his  range  was  wider,  and  his  plans  of  amusement  a 
little  more  enlarged.  He  had  a  garden,  two  feet  square, 
where  he  stuck  down  green  sprigs,  broken  from  the  shrubs 
around  him,  and  he  would  make  stakes  with  a  dull  house 
knife  partly  for  the  pleasure  of  making  them,  and  partly  for 
the  pleasure  of  driving  them  into  the  ground.  He  would 
ramble  up  and  down  the  path  a  little  way,  and  sometimes 
go  with  his  mother  down  to  the  spring,  to  see  her  dip  the 
bright  tin  pail  into  the  water,  and  to  gaze  with  astonish- 
ment at  the  effect  of  the  commotion, — for  the  stony  wall  of 
the  spring  seemed  always  to  be  broken  to  pieces,  and  its 
fragments  waved  and  floated  about,  in  confusion,  until 
gradually  they  returned  to  their  places  and  to  rest,  and  for 
ought  he  could  see,  looked  exactly  as  before.  This  extra- 
ordinary phenomenon  astonished  him  again  and  again. 

One  day  Alonzo's  mother  saw  him  going  alone,  down 
towards  the  spring.  He  had  got  the  pail,  and  was  going 
to  try  the  wonderful  experiment  himself.  His  mother 
called  him  back,  and  forbade  his  ever  going  there  alone. 
"If you  go  there  alone,"  said  she,  "you  will  fall  in  and 
be  drowned." 

Alonzo  was  not  convinced  by  the  reason,  but  he  was 
awed  by  the  command,  and  for  many  days  he  obeyed.  At 
length,  however,  when  his  mother  was  occupied  in  another 
part  of  the  house,  he  stole  away  softly  down  the  path  a 
little  way. 

There  was  a  sort  of  a  struggle  going  on  within  him  while 
he  was  doing  this.     "Alonzo,"  said  Conscience,  for  even 


Ch.   1.]  WORKS    AND    FAITH.  15 

Dialogue  with  conscience.  Early  sin.  Its  natiire. 

at  this  early  age,  Conscience  had  begun  to  be  developed, 
"  Alonzo,  this  is  very  wrong." 

Conscience  must  be  conquered,  if  conquered  at  all,  not 
by  direct  opposition,  but  by  evasion  and  deceit,  and  the 
deceiving  and  deceitful  tendencies  of  the  heart,  are  very 
early  developed. 

"I  am  not  going  down  to  the  spring,"  said  Alonzo  to 
himself,  "  I  am  only  going  down  the  path,  a  little  way." 

•'Alonzo,"  said  Conscience,  again,  "this  is  wrong." 

"  Mother  will  not  see  me,  and  I  shall  not  go  quite  down 
to  the  water,  so  that  no  harm  will  be  done,"  said  the  child 
to  himself  in  reply, — and  went  hesitatingly  on. 

"Alonzo,"  said  Conscience,  a  third  time,  but  with  a 
feebler  voice, — "  you  ought  not  to  go  any  farther." 

"My  mother  is  too  strict  with  me, — there  can  be  no 
harm  in  my  walking  as  far  as  this." 

He  lingered  a  little  while  about  half  way  down  the  path, 
and  then  slowly  returned,  —  the  dialogue  between  Con- 
science and  his  heart  going  on  all  the  time.  The  latter 
had  succeeded  so  well  in  its  artful  policy,  that  when  he 
came  back,  he  really  hardly  knew  whether  he  had  done 
wrong  or  not.  It  did  not  seem  quite  right,  and  there  was 
a  sort  of  gnawing  uneasiness  within  him,  but  his  heart  had 
succeeded  by  its  evasions  and  subterfuges  in  making  so 
much  of  a  question  of  the  whole  transaction,  that  he  could 
not  really  say  that  it.  was  clearly  wrong.  Alonzo  had  been 
taught  that  God  had  made  him,  and  that  he  watched  over 
him  at  all  times,  but  some  how  or  other,  he  did  not  happen 
to  think  of  him  at  all  during  this  affair.  He  had  also  under- 
stood something  of  his  obligations  to  his  mother,  for  her 
kindness  and  love  to  him; — but  he  did  not  happen  to  think 
of  her  now  in  this  light.  The  contest  consisted  simply,  on 
the  one  side,  of  the  low  murmurings  of  conscience,  telling 
him  sternly  that  he  was  wrong,  and  on  the  other,  the  turn- 
ings and  shiftings  and  windings  of  a  deceitful  heart  trying 
to  quiet  her,  or  at  least  to  drown  her  remonstrances. 


16  THE    WAY    TO    DO    GOOD.  [Ch.  I. 

Self  deception.  A  second  transgression.  Progress  in  sin. 

I  have  dwelt  thus  particularly  upon  the  philosophy  of 
this  early  sin,  because  this  was  the  way  in  which  Alonzo 
committed  all  his  sins  for  many  years  afterwards.  Con- 
science made  him  uncomfortable  while  he  was  transgress- 
ing, but  then  his  heart  kept  up  such  a  variety  of  evasions 
and  queries,  and  brought  in  so  many  utterly  foreign  con- 
siderations, that  whenever  he  was  doing  any  thing  wrong, 
he  never  seemed  to  have,  at  the  time  while  he  was  doing  it, 
a  distinct  idea  that  it  ivas  clearly  and  positively  wrong.  For 
instance,  a  few  days  after  the  transaction  above  described, 
his  mother  had  gone  away  to  spend  some  hours,  and  his 
sister  who  had  the  care  of  him,  had  left  him  alone  at  the 
door.  He  took  up  the  pail,  and  began  to  walk  slowly  down 
the  path.  Conscience,  defeated  before,  and  familiarized 
to  a  certain  degree  of  transgression,  allowed  him  to  go 
without  opposition  a  part  of  the  way,  but  when  she  per- 
ceived that  he  was  actually  approaching  the  spring,  she 
shook  her  head  and  renewed  her  low,  solemn  murmuring. 

"Alonzo,  Alonzo,  you  must  not  go  there." 

"  I  shall  not  fall  in,  I  know;"  said  Alonzo  to  himself; 

"Alonzo,  Alonzo,  Alonzo,"  said  Conscience  again, — 
"you  must  not  disobey." 

Alonzo  tried  not  to  hear  her,  and  instead  of  answering, 
he  said  to  himself, 

"  It  was  many  days  ago,  that  she  told  me  not  to  come. 
She  did  not  mean  never. ^^ 

This  was  true  literally,  and  yet  it  may  seem  surprising 
that  Alonzo  could  for  one  instant  deceive  himself  with  such 
an  argument.  But  any  thing  will  do  to  deceive  ourselves 
with.  When  we  are  committing  sin,  we  love  to  be  deceiv- 
ed about  it.     Hence  it  is  very  easy. 

While  saying  that  his  mother  could  not  have  meant  that 
he  must  never  come,  Alonzo  leaned  over  the  spring,  and 
tremblingly  plunged  in  his  pail.  The  magic  effect  was 
produced.  The  stones  and  moss  waved  and  quivered,  to 
Alonzo 's  inexpressible  delight.     His  mind  was  in  a  state  of 


Ch.  1.]  WORKS    AND    FAITH.  17 

The  heart  deceitM  above  all  things. ,  Progress 

feverish  excitement, — Conscience  calling  upon  him,  and  in 
vain  trying  to  make  him  hear, — fear  whispering  eagerly, 
that  he  might  be  seen, — and  curiosity  urging  him  again 
and  again  to  repeat  his  wonderful  experiment. 

Alonzo  was  a  very  little  child,  and  the  language  in  which 
I  am  obliged- to  describe  his  mental  states,  and  the  words 
with  which  I  clothe  his  thoughts,  may  seem  more  mature 
than  the  reality  in  such  a  case  could  have  been.  In  fact 
they  are  so.  He  could  not  have  used  such  language,  and 
et  it  describes  correctly  the  thoughts  and  feelings  which 
really  passed  within  his  bosom. 

At  length,  he  hastily  drew  out  his  pail,  and  went  back  to 
the  house.  Conscience  endeavored,  then,  when  the  ex- 
-citement  of  the  experiment  was  over,  to  gain  his  attention. 
His  heart  still  bent  on  deceiving  and  being  deceived, 
evaded  the  subject. 

"My  mother  said,"  thought  he,  "that  I  should  fall  in 
and  be  drowned  if  I  went  there,  and  I  did  not  fall  in;  I 
knew  I  should  not  fall  in." 

Thus  instead  of  thinking  of  his  guilt  and  disobedience, 
he  was  occupied  with  the  thought  of  the  advantage  he  had 
gained  over  his  mother, — that  is,  the  heart  which  ought  to 
have  been  penitent  and  humbled,  under  the  burden  of  sin, 
was  deluding  itself  with  the  false  colors  which  it  had 
spread  over  its  guilt,  and  was  filled  with  deceit  and  self- 
congratulation. 

Year  after  year  passed  on,  and  Alonzo  grew  in  strength 
«,nd  stature;  but  he  continued  about  the  same  in  heart. 
Instead  of  playing  on  the  round,  flat  door  stone,  he  at 
length  might  be  seen  riding  on  his  father's  plough, — or 
tossing  about  the  drying  grass  in  the  mowing  field, — or 
gathering  berries  upon  the  hill  side,  on  some  summer  after- 
noon. He  was  continually  committing  sins  in  the  manner 
already  described.  These  sins  were  different  in  circum- 
stance and  character  as  he  grew  older,  but  their  nature,  so 
far  as  the  feelings  of  the  heart  were  concerned,  were  the 


18  THE   WAY   TO    DO    GOOD.  [CIl.  I, 

Influence  of  education.  Aloniso's  virtues.  His  piety. 

3ame.  There  was  the  same  murmuring  of  conscience  j 
the  same  windings  and  evasions  of  his  heart ;  the  same  self- 
deception;  the  same  success  in  leading  himself  to  doubt, 
whether  the  act  of  transgression,  which  for  the  time  being 
he  was  committing,  was  right  or  wrong.  His  parents  in 
most  respects,  brought  him  up  well.  They  taught  him  his 
duty,  and  when  they  knew  that  he  did  wrong,  they  remon- 
strated with  him  seriously,  or,  if  necessary,  they  punished 
him.  Thus  his  conscience  was  cherished,  and  kept  alive, 
as  it  were,  and  he  was  often  deterred  by  her  voice  from 
committing  many  sins.  She  held  him  much  in  check.  His 
parents  formed  in  him  many  good  habits  which  he  adhered 
to  faithfully  as  habits, — and  thus  so  far  as  the  influence  of 
his  parents  could  go,  in  aiding  conscience,  and  in  habituat- 
ing him  to  certain  duties, — so  far  he  was,  in  most  cases, 
deterred  from  the  commission  of  sin.  Other  things,  how- 
ever, equally  sinful,  he  did  without  scruple.  For  example, 
he  would  have  shuddered  at  stealing  even  a  pin  from  his 
rsister;  but  he  would  by  unreasonable  wishes  and  demands-, 
give  her  as  much  trouble,  and  occasion  her  as  much  loss 
of  enjoyment,  as  if  he  had  stolen  a  very  valuable  article 
from  her.  If  he  had  undertaken  to  steal  a  little  picture 
from  her  desk,  conscience  would  have  thundered  so  terri- 
bly that  he  could  not  possibly  have  proceeded  ;  but  he 
could  tease  and  vex  her  by  his  unreasonable  and  selfish 
conduct,  without  any  remorse.  If  his  heart  had  been  hon- 
est and  shrewd  in  discovering  its  own  real  character,  these 
cases  would  have  taught  him  that  his  honesty  was  artificial 
and  accidental,  and  did  not  rest  on  any  true  foundation, — 
but  his  heart  was  not  honest,  nor  shrewd  in  respect  to  itself; 
it  loved  to  be  deceived,  and  when  he  read  of  a  theft  in  a 
story  book,  he  took  great  pleasure  in  thinking  what  a  good 
honest  boy  he  himself  was. 

So  he  would  not,  on  any  account,  have  omitted  to  say  his 
prayers,  morning  and  night;  but  whenever  he  committed 
sin   in  the  course  of  the  day,  he  never  thought  of  going 


Ch.  1.]  WORIfS   AND   fArTH;  t^ 

The  way  to  manage  conscience.  Alonzo's  discovery* 

away  alone  before  God  to  confess  it,  and  to  ask  forgiveness. 
Now  if  his  heart  had  been  honest  and  shrewd  in  discover- 
ing his  own  character,  this  would  have  taught  him  that  his 
piety  was  all  a  mere  form,  and  that  he  had  no  real-  affection 
for  God.  But  his  heart  was  not  thus  honest  and  shrewd, 
and  though  he  never  thought  much  about  it,  he  still  had  an 
impression  on  his  mind  that  he  was  the  friend  of  God,  and 
that  he  regularly  worshipped  him.  He  knew  very  well  that 
he  sometimes  committed  sin,  but  he  did  not  suppose  that  it 
was  often.  For  as  we  have  already  explained,  it  was  very 
seldom,  when  he  was  actually  engaged  in  transgression, 
that  he  had  a  distinct  and  clear  conception  that  what  he 
was  then  doing  was  positively  wrong.  He  always  so  far 
succeeded  in  blinding  or  misleading  conscience  as  to  make 
it  doubtful.  And  if  he  could  succeed  in  making  a  question 
of  it,  he  would  go  and  commit  the  sin,  with  a  half  formed 
idea  of  examining  the  cdse  afterwards.  But  then  when  the 
pleasure  of  the  sin  was  over,  he  found  the  true  moral  char- 
acter of  the  transaction  to  be,  somehow  or  other,  rather  a 
disagreeable  subject  to  investigate;  so  he  left  it,  laid  away, 
as  it  were,  in  his  memory,  to  fester  and  rankle  there.  And 
though  he  had  such  at  number  of  these  recollections  as  to 
give  him  no  little  uneasmess  and  annoyance,  he  still  thought 
he  was  a  very  virtuous  and  promising  young  man. 

One  day,  Alonzo  made  a  discovery  which  startled  and 
alarmed  him  a  little.  He  was  about  twelve  years  old. 
Some  young  men  had  formed  a  plan  of  ascending  a  certain 
mountain  summit,  the  extremity  of  a  lofty  ridge,  which 
projected  like  a  spur  from  the  main  range,  and  which  rear- 
ed its  rocky  head  among  the  clouds,  in  full  view  from  his 
father's  door.  They  had  fixed  upon  Sabbath  evening  for 
this  purpose,  an  hour  or  two  before  sun-down.  "A  great 
many  people,  you  know,"  said  one  of  tlie  boys,  "  think  that 
the  Sabbath  ends  at  sunset,  and  an  hour  or  so  before  will 
not  make  any  great  difference.  We  must  be  up  in  season 
to  see  the  sun  go  down."     This,  disposal  of  the  difficulty. 


20  THE. WAY   TO   DO    GOOD.  [Ch.  1. 

Asking  mother.  Maternal  firmness.  Effects. 

was  abundantly  satisfactory  to  all  those  who  were  inclined 
to  go,  but  Alonzo  had  some  doubts  whether  it  would  appear 
equally  conclusive  to  his  father  and  mother.  One  thing 
favored,  however.  His  father  was  away,  having  been  ab- 
sent on  some  business  for  the  town,  for  several  days;  and 
Alonzo  thought  that  there  was  at  least  a  possibility  that  his 
mother  would  find  the  deficiencies  in  the  reasoning  made 
up  by  a  little  extra  persuasion,  and  that  her  consent  to  his 
sharing  in  the  pleasure  of  the  excursion  would  be  obtained. 
At  any  rate,  it  was  plainly  worth  while  to  try. 

He  accordingly  came  in  on  Saturday'  afternoon,  and 
standing  by  the  side  of  his  mother,  who  was  finishing  some 
sewing  necessary  to  complete  her  preparations  for  the  Sab- 
bath, with  much  hesita|^cy  and  circumlocution  he  preferred 
his  request.  She  listened  to  him  with  surprise,  and  then 
told  him  he  must  not  go. 

"  It  would  be  very  wrong,"  said  she. 

"But,  mother,  we  shall  walk  along  very  still;  we  will 
not  laugh  or  play.  It  will  only  be  taking  a  little  walk  after 
sun-down." 

Alonzo 's  mother  was  silent. 

"  Come,  mother,"  said  the  boy,  hoping  that  he  had  made 
some  impression,  ''do  let  me  go.  Do  say  yes, — just  this 
once." 

After  a  moment's  pause,  she  replied, 

"  Some  persons  do  indeed  suppose  that  the  Sabbath  ends 
at  sun-down,  but  we  think  it  continues  till  midnight,  and  we 
cannot  shift  and  change  the  hours  to  suit  our  pleasures. 
Now,  with  all  your  resolutions  about  walking  still,  you 
know  very  well  that  such  an  expedition,  with  such  compan- 
ions, will  not  be  keeping  holy  the  Sabbath-day.  You  come 
to  me  therefore  with  a  proposal  that  I  will  allow  you  to 
disobey,  directly  and  openly,  one  of  the  plainest  of  God's 
commands      It  is  impossible  that  I  should  consent." 

While  his  mother  was  saying  these  words,  emotions  of 
anger  and  indignation  began  to  rise  and  swell  in  Alonzo's 


Ch.  1.]  WORKS    AND    FAITH.  21 

The  seat  in  the  orchard.  Conflicting  emotions. 

bosom,  until,  at  length,  foreseeing  how  the  sentence  would 
end,  he  began  to  walk  off  towards  the  door,  and  almost 
before  the  last  words  were  uttered,  he  was  gone.  He  shut 
the  door  violently,  muttering  to  himself,  "It  is  always  just 
so." 

In  a  state  of  wretchedness  and  sin,  which  my  readers,  if 
they  have  ever  acted  as  Alonzo  did,  must  conceive  of,  he 
walked  out  of  the  house,  and  sank  down  upon  a  bench 
which  he  had  made  in  the  little  orchard.  Here  he  gave 
full  flow  for  a  few  minutes,  to  the  torrent  of  boiling  passion 
which  had  so  suddenly  burst  out  of  his  heart.  In  a  short 
time,  however,  the  excitement  of  his  feelings  subsided  a 
little,  and  there  came  suddenly  a  sort  of  flash  of  moral  light, 
which  seemed  to  reveal  to  him  for  sifi.  instant  the  true  char- 
acter of  the  transaction. 

Something  within  him  seemed  to  say,  "  What  an  unrea- 
sonable, ungrateful,  wicked  boy  you  are,  Alonzo.  Here  is 
your  mother, — as  kind  a  mother  as  ever  lived.  You  owe 
her  your  very  being.  She  has  taken  care  of  you  for  years, 
without  any  return,  and  has  done  every  thing  to  inake  you 
happy;  and  now  because  she  cannot  consent  to  let  you  do 
what  is  most  clearly  wrong,  your  heart  is  full  of  anger, 
malice  and  revenge.  What  a  heart  !  Love,  duty, — all  are 
forgotten,  and  every  feeling  of  gratitude  for  long  years  of 
kindness  is  obliterated,  by  one  single  interferen^je  with 
your  wicked  desires." 

This  reflection,  which  it  will  require  some  time  to  read, 
occupied  but  an  instant  in  passing  through  Alonzo's  mind. 
It  flashed  upon  him  for  a  moment,  and  was  gone, — and  the 
dark,  heavy  clouds  of  anger  and  ill  will,  rolled  agaift  over 
his  soul.     He  sat  upon  the  bench  in  moody  silence. 

At  length,  he  began  again  to  see  that  he  was  very  wrong; 
such  feelings  towards  his  mother,  were,  he  knew,  unrea- 
sonable and  sinful,  and  he  determined  that  he  would  not 
indulge  them.  So  he  rose,  and  walked  through  a  small 
gate,  into  the  yard,  where  a  large  pile  of  long  logs  were 


22  THE    WAY    TO    DO    GOOD.  [Ch.   1. 

Healing  the  hurt  slightly,  Alonzo's  opinion  of  himself. 

lying,  one  of  which  had  been  rolled  down  and  partly  cut 
off.  He  took  up  the  axe  and  went  to  work.  But  he  soon 
learned  that  it  was  one  thing  to  see  that  his  feelings  were 
wrong,  and  another  thing  to  feel  right.  His  mind  was  in  a 
sort  of  chaos.  Floating  visions  of  the  party  ascending 
the  hill, — vexation  at  his  disappointment, — uneasiness  at 
the  recollection  of  his  unkind  treatment  of  his  mother,  all 
mingled  together  in  his  soul.  "  I  wish  I  could  feel  right 
towards  mother  about  this,"  said  he  to  himself;  but  some- 
how or  other,  there  seemed  gathering  over  his  heart  a  kind 
of  casing  of  dogged  sullenness,  which  he  could  not  break 
or  dispel.  At  least  he  thought  he  could  not.  So  he  rather 
concluded  it  was  best  to  forget  the  whole  affair  for  the 
present.  He  laid  down  the  axe,  therefore,  and  began  to 
pick  up  some  chips  and  sticks  to  carry  in  for  kindling  the 
morning  fire;  and  he  secretly  determined  that  when  he 
went  in  and  met  his  mother  again,  he  would  not  evince  any 
more  of  his  impatience  and  anger,  but  would  act  "just  as 
if  nothing  had  happened." 

Just  as  if  nothing  had  happened!  What,  after  such  an 
act  of  disrespect,  ingratitude  and  disobedience,  act  as  if 
nothing  had  happened! 

But  Alonzo  did  not  make  any  such  reflection.  His  heart, 
clinging  to  his  sin,  loved  to  be  deceived  by  it.  It  seemed 
to  him  impossible  to  feel  the  relenting  of  true,  heartfelt 
penitence,  and  that  love  and  gratitude  which  he  knew  his 
mother  deserved,  —  and  especially  that  cheerful  acqui- 
escence in  her  decision,  which  he  knew  he  ought  to  feel. 
So  he  concluded  to  forget  all  about  it, — and  the  poisoned 
fountain  which  had  so  suddenly  burst  forth  in  his  heart, 
was  covered  up  again,  and  smoothed  over,  ready  to  boil 
out  anew,  upon  any  new  occasion. 

This  and  a  few  other  similar  occurrences,  led  Alonzo 
sometimes  to  think  that  there  might  be  deeper  sources  of 
moral  difficulty  in  his  heart,  than  he  had  been  accustomed 
to  imagine;  but  he  did  not  think  much  about  it,  and  his 


Ch.   1.]  WORKS    AND    FAITH.  23 

An  incident.  Tiie  walk  tlirough  the  woods. 

life  passed  on  without  much  thought  or  care,  in  respect  to 
his  character  or  prospects  as  a  moral  being.  He  had, 
however,  a  sort  of  standing  suspicion  that  there  was  some- 
thing wrong, — quite  wrong,  but  he  did  not  stop  to  examine 
the  case.  The  little  uneasiness  which  this  suspicion  caused, 
was  soothed  and  quieted  a  good  deal,  by  a  sort  of  prevail- 
ing idea,  that  after  all,  there  was  a  great  deal  that  was  very 
excellent  in  his  conduct  and  character.  He  was  generally 
considered  a  pretty  good  boy.  He  knew  this,  very  well; 
and  one  of  the  grossest  of  the  forms  of  deceitfulness  which 
the  heart  assumes,  is,  to  believe  that  we  deserve  all  that 
others  give  us  credit  for,  even  where  the  good  qualities  in 
question  are  merely  the  most  superficial  and  shallow  pre- 
tence. 

One  incident  occurred  about  this  time,  which  almost 
opened  Alonzo's  eyes  to  the  true  character  of  some  of  his 
virtues.  During  the  winter  months  he  went  to  school,  and 
the  good  qualities  which  he  fancied  he  exhibited  there, 
were  among  those  on  which  he  most  prided  himself.  One 
afternoon,  as  he  was  walking  home,  with  a  green  satchel  full 
of  books  slung  over  his  shoulder,  he  stopped  a  few  minutes 
at  the  brook  which  crossed  the  road,  and  looked  down  over 
the  bridge  upon  the  smooth  dark  colored  ice  which  covered 
the  deep  water.  It  looked  so  clear  and  beautiful,  that  he 
went  down  and  cautiously  stepped  upon  it.  It  was  so 
transparent  that  it  seemed  impossible  that  it  could  be 
strong.  He  sat  down  on  a  stone  which  projected  out  of 
the  water,  and  while  he  was  there  the  teacher  came  along, 
and  stopping  on  the  bridge,  began  to  talk  with  him.  Alonzo 
and  the  teacher  were  on  very  good  terms,  and  after  talking 
together  a  few  minutes  at  the  brook,  they  both  walked 
along  together. 

Their  way  was  a  cross  path  through  the  woods,  which 
led  by  a  shorter  course  than  the  main  road,  to  the  part  of 
the  town  where  they  were  both  going. 

"  Alonz©,"  said  the  teacher,  as  they  were  stepping  over 


24  THE    WAY    TO    DO    GOOD.  [Ch.   1. 

Conversation.  The  books  in  the  satchel.  Motives. 

a  low  place  in  the  log  fence  where  their  path  diverged  from 
the  road; — "I  am  glad  to  see  you  carrying  your  books 
home." 

"I  like  to  study  my  lessons  at  home  in  the  evenings," 
said  Alonzo,  with  a  feeling  of  secret  satisfaction. 

"Well,  Alonzo,  what  should  you  say  if  I  should  tell  you 
I  could  guess  exactly  what  books  you  have  got  in  your 
satchel  ?  " 

"I  do  'nt  know,"  said  Alonzo, — *'  perhaps  you  saw  me 
put  them  in." 

"No,  I  did  not." 

"Well,  you  can  tell  by  the  shape  of  the  books, — which 
you  can  see  by  looking  at  the  satchel." 

"No,"  said  the  teacher,  "I  see  you  have  got  either 
your  writing  book  or  your  Atlas,  but  I  could  not  tell  which 
by  the  appearance  of  the  satchel.  I  see  also,  that  there  is 
by  the  side  of  it,  one  middle  sized  book  besides;  but  its 
size  merely  will  not  tell  whether  it  is  your  Arithmetic  or 
your  Grammar  or  your  Geography." 

"Well,  what  do  you  think  they  are?" 

"  I  think  they  are  your  writing  book,  and  your  spelling 
book." 

There  was  in  Alonzo's  countenance  an  appearance  of 
surprise  and  curiosity.  He  said  the  teacher  was  right,  and 
asked  him  how  he  knew. 

"  I  know  by  your  character." 

"By  my  character!"  said  Alonzo,  "  What  do  you  mean 
by  that?" 

"  I  will  tell  you;  but  I  think  it  will  give  you  pain,  rather 
than  pleasure.  You  are  one  of  the  best  boys  in  my  school, 
— ^you  give  me  very  little  trouble,  and  are  generally  dili- 
gent in  your  duties;  and  obedient  and  faithful.  Now,  have 
you  ever  thought  what  your  motives  are  for  this?" 

"  No  sir,  I  have  never  thought  about  it  very  particularly. 
I  want  to  improve  my  time,  and  learn  as  much  as  I  can,  so 
as  to  be  useful  when  I  am  a  man." 


Ch.    I.]  WORKS   AND    PAITH.  25 

An  exposure©.  The  teacher's  queries. 

Alonzo  thought  that  that  ought  to  be  his  motive,  and  so 
he  fancied  that  it  was.  He  did  not  mean  to  tell  a  false- 
hood. He  did  not  say  it  because  he  wished  to  deceive  his 
teacher,  but  because  his  heart  had  deceived  him.  It  is  so 
with  us  all. 

"You  think  so,  I  have  no  doubt.  But  now  I  wish  to 
ask  you  one  cpiiestion.  What  two  studies  do  you  think  you 
^re  most  perfect  in  ?" 

Alonzo  did  not  like  to  answer,  though  he  knew  that  he 
prided  himself  much  on  his  handsome  writing,  and  on  his 
being  almost  always  at  the  head  of  his  class  in  spelling. 
At  length  he  said,  with  a  modest  air,  that  he  thought  he 
*'took  as  much  interest  in  his  writing  and  in  his  spelling 
lessons,  as  in  any  thing." 

"Are  there  any  studies  that  you  are  less  advanced  in 
than  in  these?" 

"Yes,  sir." 

*' Well,"  said  the  teacher,  "now  I  want  to  ask  you  one 
question.  How  happens  it  that  the  writing  book  and  the 
spelling  book,  which  represent  the  two  studies  in  which 
you  have  made  the  greatest  proficiency,  and  in  which  you, 
of  course,  least  need  any  extra  efforts,  are  the  very  ones 
which  you  are  bringing  home  to  work  upon  in  the  eve- 
nings?" 

Alonzo  did  not  answer  immediately.  In  fact,  he  had  no 
answer  at  hand.  He  thought,  however,  that  if  he  was 
inclined  to  study  out  of  school  hours,  he  had  a  right  to  take 
any  books  home  that  he  pleased.     But  he  did  not  say  so. 

"  And  I  should  like  to  ask  you  one  more  question;"  said 
the  teacher.  "  In  what  study  do  you  think  you  are  most 
deficient?" 

"  I  suppose  it  is  my  Arithmetic,"  said  Alonzo:  recollect- 
ing how  he  disliked,  and  avoided  as  much  as  possible, 
every  thing  connected  with  calculation. 

"  And  do  you  ever  carry  home  your  Arithmetic  to  study 
in  the  evening?" 
3 


^6  THE    WAY    TO    DO    GOOD.  [Cll.   1 

Alonzo's  perplexity.  His  reflections. 

Alonzo  shook  his  head.     He  knew  he  did  not. 

"  Well.  Now  you  know  very  well  that  there  is  no  know- 
ledge obtained  at  school  more  important  to  a  man  than  a 
knowledge  of  figures.  How  does  it  happen  then,  if  your 
motive  is  to  fit  yourself  for  usefulness  and  happiness  when 
a  man,  that  the  very  study  in  which  you  are  most  deficient, 
is  the  very  one  in  which  you  never  make  any  voluntary 
effort.?" 

Here  was  a  little  pause,  during  which  Alonzo  looked 
serious.  He  felt  very  unhappy.  It  seemed  to  him  that 
his  teacher  was  unkind.  When  he  was  bringing  his  books 
home  to  study  his  lesson  for  the  next  day  on  purpose  to 
please  the  teacher, — to  be  blamed  just  because  he  had  not 
happened  to  bring  his  Arithmetic  instead  of  his  Spelling- 
book,  was  very  hard.  Tears  came  to  his  eyes,  but  he 
strove  to  suppress  them,  and  said  nothing. 

"I  know,  Alonzo,"  continued  the  teacher,  "that  these 
questions  of  mine  will  trouble  you.  But  I  have  not  asked 
them  for  the  sake  of  troubling  you,  but  for  the  purpose  of 
letting  you  see  into  your  heart  and  learn  a  lesson  of  its 
deceitfulness.  I  want  you  to  think  of  this  to-night  when 
you  are  alone,  and  perhaps  I  will  some  day  talk  with  you 
again." 

So  saying,  they  came  out  into  the  road  again,  near  the 
teacher's  residence.  They  bade  one  another  good-by,  and 
Alonzo  walked  on  alone. 

"He  means,"  thought  he,  "that  if  I  honestly  wanted  to 
improve,  I  should  take  most  interest  in  the  studies  in  which 
I  am  deficient."  And  as  this  thought  floated  through  his 
mind,  it  brought  after  it,  a  dim  momentary  vision  of  the 
pride  and  vanity  and  love  of  praise,  which  he  suddenly  saw 
revealed  as  the  secret  spring  of  all  those  excellences  at 
school,  on  which  he  had  so  prided  himself  But  to  see  all 
those  fancied  virtues  of  industry,  and  love  of  learning,  and 
desire  to  be  conscientious  and  faithful,  wither  at  once, 
under  the  magic  influence  of  two  such  simple  questions, 


Ch.    1.]  WORKS    AND    FAITH.  27 

Alonzo's  virtues  not  genuine.  Summary  of  A!onzo's  character. 

and  turn  into  vanity  and  self-conceit,  afforded  him  no 
pleasant  subject  of  reflection.  He  was  glad,  therefore,  to 
see  a  load  of  wood  coming  into  his  Other's  yard  as  he 
appoached  it,  and  he  hastened  to  "help  them  unload."  He 
thus  got  rid  of  the  disagreeable  subject,  without  actually 
deciding  whether  the  teacher  was  right  or  wrong. 

The  affair,  however,  shook,  and  weakened  very  much, 
his  faith  in  the  good  traits  of  his  character.  He  did  not 
come  to  the  distinct  conclusion  that  they  were  all  hollow 
and  superficial,  but  he  had  a  sort  of  vague  fear  that  they 
might  prove  so, — an  undefined  notion  that  they  would  not 
bear  examination.  This  was  another  source  of  uneasiness 
laid  up  in  his  heart, — a  part  of  the  burden  of  sin  which  he 
bore  without  thinking  much  of  it,  though  it  fretted  and 
troubled  him. 

Thus  Alonzo  lived.  From  twelve^  he  passed  on  to  fif- 
teen, and  from  fifleen  to  twenty.  He  became  a  strong, 
athletic  young  man,  known  and, esteemed  for  his  industry, 
frugality  and  steadiness  of  character.  The  time  drew  near 
which  was  to  terminate  his  minority,  and  at  this  age,  his 
moral  condition  might  be  summed  up  thus: 

1.  The  external  excellences  of  his  character  arose  from 
the  influence  of  his  excellent  education.  This  would  have 
been  no  disparagement  to  them,  if  they  had  been  of  the 
right  kind; — but  they  resulted  only  from  the  restraints  im- 
posed by  the  opinion  of  those  around  him, — from  the  influ- 
ence of  conscience,  which,  in  respect  to  some  sins,  had  been 
so  encouraged  and  cultivated  by  his  parents,  that  it  was 
very  uncomfortable  for  him  to  act  directly  counter  to  her 
voice,  in  respect  to  those  sins, — and  from  the  power  of 
habit.  His  industry,  for  instance,  was  based  upon  the  last; 
his  regard  for  the  Sabbath  upon  the  second,  and  his  tem- 
perance and  steadiness  mainly  upon  the  other. 

2.  He  made  no  regular,  systematic  effort,  to  improve  his 
character.  In  fact,  he  felt  little  interest  in  any  plan  of  this 
kind-     He  was  much  interested  in  the  various  plans  of  cul- 


25  THE    WAT   TO    DO    GOOD,  [Ch.   1. 

His  occupations  and  pleasures.  Character  of  bis  prayers. 

tivation  and  improvement  on  his  father's  farm;  but  his 
heart  was  chiefly  set  upon  the  amusements  with  which  the 
young  people  of  the  neighborhood  regaled  themselves,  in 
hours  when  work  was  done ; — the  sleigh  ride, — ^the  sing- 
ing school, — the  fishing  party, — the  husking.  In  the 
evening,  he  was  occupied  with  some  one  of  these  enjoy- 
ments, and  the  next  day  at  his  work  he  was  planning 
another,  and  thus  life  glided  on.  I  do  not  mean  that  he 
was  entirely  indifferent  about  his  character  and  prospects 
as  a  moral  being ;  he  did  sometimes  feel  a  little  uneasiness 
about  them.  Such  discoveries  as  I  have  already  described, 
gave  him  a  momentary  glimpse  occasionally,  of  the  secrets 
of  his  heart,  and  he  had  a  sort  of  abiding  impression  that 
there  was  something  there,  which  would  not  bear  examina-^ 
tion.  It  was  an  unpleasant  subject,  and  he  thought  that 
for  the  present  he  had  better  let  it  rest.  As  to  his  charac- 
ter, it  was,  he  knew,  superficially  fair.  He  prided  himself 
a  good  deal  upon,  the  appearance  it  prese»ted  towards 
others,  and  he  did  not  see  how  he  could  improve  it  much, 
without  making  a  thorough  work  among  the  motives  and 
feelings  of  his  heart.  This  he  could  not  but  strongly 
shrink  from;  so  he  passed  quietly  along  and  thought  about 
other  things. 

3.  There  was  no  connection  between  his  soul  and  God. 
I  mean  no  spiritual  connection, — -no  communion, — no  in- 
terchange of  thought  or  of  feeling.  He  was  taught  ta 
repeat  a  prayer  morning  and  evening,  and  this  practice  he 
continued, — that  is,  he  considered  it  one  of  his  duties,  and 
meant,  generally,  to  perform  it.  As  he  grew  up  from  boy- 
hood, however,  he  often  neglected  it  in  the  morning,  until 
at  length  he  omitted  it  then  altogether;  and  he  gradually 
found  an  increasing  reluctance  at  night.  He  often  omit- 
ted it, — not  intentionally,  exactly; — he  forgot  it;  or,  he 
was  very  tired  and  went  immediately  to  sleep.  Tliese 
omissions,  however,  which,  by  the  way,  were  far  more  fre- 
quent than  he  unagined,  did  not  trouble  him  as  much  as  it 


Ch.   1.]  WORKS    AND    FAITtt.  S9 

The  evening  meeting.  Setting  off.  Nine  o'clock. 

might  have  been  expected  that  they  would,  for  he  began  to 
think  that  the  practice  was  intended  for  children,  and  that 
he  was  getting  to  be  too  old  to  make  it  necessary  that  he 
should  attend  to  it.  When  he  did  remember  this  duty,  it 
was  only  a  form.  There  was  no  communion  or  connection 
between  him  and  God.  So  far  as  the  feelings  of  his  heart 
were  concerned,  he  lived  in  independence  of  his  Maker. 

Such  was  Alonzo's  condition,  during  the  winter  before 
he  was  to  be  4W5enty-one.  One  evening  during  that  winter, 
"  a  meeting'^  was  appointed  in  the  school-house.  A  stran- 
ger was  to  preach.  On  such  occasions  the  school-house 
was  always  filled.  The  congregation  came  from  the  farm- 
ers' families  for  several  miles  around;  curiosity  respecting 
the  stranger,  the  pleasure  of  a  winter  evening's  expedition, 
a  sort  of  intellectual  interest  in  the  services,  the  exhilarat- 
ing, and  animating  scene  which  the  room  presented, — the 
light  from  the  great  blazing  wood  fire  beaming  upon  a  hun 
dred  bright  and  cheerful  countenances, — and  in  some  cases 
at  least,  an  honest  desire  to  know  and  do  duty,  constituted 
the  motives  which  drew  the  assembly  together.  At  six 
o'clock,  Alonzo  harnessed  a  strong,  fleet,  well  fed  horse 
into  a  gaily  painted  sleigh,  and  handing  his  father  and 
mother  into  the  back  seat,  mounted,  himself,  upon  a  higher 
one  in  front,  and  away  they  went  jingling  down  the  valley. 
They  were  lost  to  sight-rby  the  turnings  of  the  road  among 
the  trees,  and  the  sleigh-bells,  sounding  fainter  and  fainter, 
at  length  died  away  upon  the  ear. 

A  little  before  nine,  Alonzo  might  have  been  seen  re- 
turning slowly  up  the  valley.  The  moon  had  risen,  and  it 
shone  through  the  trees,  casting  a  beautiful  white  light 
upon  the  snowy  wreaths  which  hung  upon  them.  The 
horse  walked  along  slowly,  and  Alonzo  was  making  crosses 
with  his  whip-lash  upon  the  smooth  surface  of  the  snow 
which  bordered  the  road.  He  was  lost  in  thought.  The 
subject  of  the  sermon  which  he  had  heard,  was,  the  impor- 
tance of  preparation  for  another  world;  and  it  happened, 
3* 


so  THE   WAY   to   DO    GddD.  [Cfl.   i. 

The  Holy  Spirit.  Morning  cloud  and  early  dew. 

from  some  cause  or  other,  that  Alonzo's  mind  was  in  such 
a  calm,  contemplative  state  that  evening,  that  the  dis- 
course made  a  strong  impression.  It  was  not  an  impres- 
sion made  by  any  extraordinary  eloquence.  The  preacher, 
in  a  very  quiet,  unostentatious,  simple  manner,  presented 
truths,  which  Alonzo  had  heard  a  thousand  times  before, 
though  heretofore  they  had,  as  it  were,  stopped  at  the  ear. 
This  night,  they  seemed  to  penetrate  to  his  heart.  He 
came  out  of  the  meeting  thoughtful.  He  rode  home 
silently.  There  seemed  to  be  a  new  view  opened  before 
his  mind.  The  future  world  appeared  a  reality  to  him ;  it 
looked  near;  and  he  wondered  why  he  was  not  making  a 
preparation  for  it.  He  rode  home  thinking  of  these  things 
silently.  His  father  and  mother  rode  in  silence  too,  each 
u,nconscious  of  the  thoughts  of  the  other,  but  both  thinking 
of  their  son.  An  unwonted  influerce  was  moving  upon  the 
hearts  of  all. 

These  serious  thoughts  passed  away  the  next  day,  but 
.iiey  left  behind  a  more  distinct  impression  than  he  had  been 
accustomed  to  feel,  that  he  had  a  great  work  to  do  before 
he  left  the  world,  and  that  it  was  a  work  which  he  had  not 
yet  begun. 

He  was  careful  to  say  the  prayer  of  his  childhood  that 
night,  with  great  seriousness,  and  he  made  a  great  effort  to 
thiift  what  it  meant,  while  he  was  repeating  it.  It  is  true 
that  there  is  a  great,  and  one  would  suppose,  a  sufficiently 
obvious  distinction  between  having  the  meaning  of  a  prayer 
in  the  mind,  and  having  the  feelings  and  desires  it  expresses 
in  the  heart.  But  Alonzo  did  not  perceive  this  distinction. 
He  thought  very  distinctly  of  the  meaning  of  the  several 
successive  petitions  and  confessions,  and  that  was  all;  but  it 
was  enough  to  satisfy  a  deceiving  and  deceitful  heart,  and 
Alonzo  dismissed  his  cares  on  the  subject  of  his  preparation 
for  death,  as  he  went  to  sleep,  feeling  that  he  had  made  a 
good  beginning. 

Alonzo's  attention  was  occupied  early  the  next  morning, 


Ch.  1.]  WORKS    AND    FAITH.  3l 

Wandering  thoughts.  Concealment.  Slow  progress. 

by  an  excursion  into  the  forest  for  a  load  of  wood  with  his 
father,  and  he  entirely  forgot  his  new  religious  resolutions, 
until  the  evening.  This  discouraged  him  a  little.  He, 
however,  again  offered  his  prayer,  with  an  effort  to  keep  its 
meaning  in  his  mind,  though  that  effort  was  less  successful 
than  on  the  evening  before.  His  thoughts  would  slip  away, 
as  it  were,  from  his  control,  and  while  he  was  saying,  "My 
sins  have  been  numerous  and  aggravated,"  or  "  lead  me 
not  into  temptation,"  he  would  find  that  his  mind  was  dwel- 
ling upon  the  past  scenes  of  the  day;  it  would  be  off  in  the 
forest  where  he  had  been  at  work,  or  surveying  the  smooth 
slopes  of  hay  in  the  barn  lofl,  or  dwelling  with  pleasure 
upon  the  fat  sleek  sides  of  Cherry,  feeding  in  the  stall. 

Alonzo  was  so  dissatisfied  with  his  prayer,  tiiat  he  began 
again  before  he  got  through,  though  with  not  much  better 
success  than  before.  He  was  vexed  with  himself  that  he 
could  not  confine  his  attention  more  easily.  He  could  not 
understand  the  reason  of  it.  The  obvious  explanation, — a 
heart  alienated  from  God,  and  eluding  by  its  own  spontane- 
ous tendencies,  every  effort  to  bring  it  to  him, — he  did  not 
see.     Willingly  deceived,  he  was  spiritually  blind. 

However,  he  succeeded  so  well,  that  he  thought  his 
second  prayer  would  do,  and  gradually  fell  asleep. 

Weeks  passed  on,  and  Alonzo  made,  in  the  manner 
above  described,  feeble  and  intermitted  efforts  to  be  a  re- 
ligious man.  He  said  nothing  of  his  feelings  to  any  one. 
In  fact,  he  would  not,  for  the  world,  have  any  body  know 
that  he  had  any  intention  of  serving  God.  Whether  it  was 
because  he  was  ashamed  to  be  seen  in  the  service  of  such 
a  Master,  or  because  he  thought  that  his  new  feelings 
were  of  so  high  a  degree  of  moral  excellence,  that  modesty 
required  that  he  should  conceal  them,  we  do  not  say.  He 
was,  at  any  rate,  very  careful  to  conceal  them. 

He  made,  however,  little  progress.  Weeks  and  months 
passed  away,  and  it  seemed  to  him  that  he  remained  sub- 
stantially in  the  same  place.     The  truth  was,  there  was  a 


5^  THE    WAV   TO    DO    GOOD.  [Ch.  1. 

Alonzo  like  the  water  skipper.  Difflcalties. 

current  carrying  him  down  which  he  did  not  perceive,  but 
whose  effects  at  distant  intervals  were  very  evident.  He 
moved  like  the  little  water  skipper,  whose  motions  he  had 
often  tvdtched,  on  his  father's  brook,  who  now  and  then 
makes  a  convulsive  and  momentary  effort  to  ascend,  but 
who  is  borne  continually  backwards  by  a  current  steady 
and  unceasing  in  its  flow,  so  that  notwithstanding  his  leaps, 
he  drifts  insensibly  down  towards  the  gulf  behind  him. 

Alonzo  was  like  the  skipper,  too,  in  other  respects.  He 
saw  distinctly  his  own  repeated  efforts;  but  the  slow,  gentle 
but  continual  operation  of  the  current,  was  unperceived. 
His  face  was  turned  up  the  stream  too,  where  all  was 
smooth  and  sunny  and  beautiful.  He  did  not  see  the  dark 
gulf  that  yawned  behind. 

In  a  word,  Alonzo  made  but  little  progress.  The  work 
was  all  up  hill.  He  perceived  that  on  the  whole  he  was 
not  advancing,  and  yet  he  could  scarcely  tell  why.  There 
were  several  difficuhies,  the  operation  of  which  he  felt,  but 
there  was  something  mysterious  and  unaccountable  about 
them. 

First  he  was  continually  forgetting  all  his  good  intentions 
He  would,  for  example,  reflect  sometimes  on  the  Sabbath, 
upon  his  duties  and  obligations,  and  would  resolve  to  be 
watchful  all  the  coming  week  to  guard  against  sin,  and  to 
keep  his  heart  right.  But  he  found  it  very  hard  to  control 
thejconduct  of  one  day  by  the  resolutions  of  the  preceding. 
Saturday  night  would  come,  and  he  would  wake  up,  as  it 
were,  from  his  dream  of  business  and  pleasure,  and  find 
that  his  spiritual  work  had  been  entirely  neglected  and  for- 
gotten during  the  week.  Half  ashamed,  and  half  vexed 
with  himself,  he  would  renew  good  resolutions  to  be  again 
neglected  and  forgotten  as  before.  What  could  he  do? 
There  was  no  want  of  good  intention  in  his  hours  of  soli- 
tude, but  how  to  give  these  intentions  an  arm  long  enough 
to  reach  through  the  week; — how  to  make  the  resolutions 
of  retirement  binding  upon  the  conduct  during  the  business 


Ch.  1.]  WORKS    AND    FAITH.  3S 

Resolutions.  Hoping  for  a  more  convenient  season. 

and  bustle  of  life,  was  a  sore  perplexity  to  him.  If  he  did 
not  think  of  his  resolutions  at  the  right  time,  of  course  he 
could  not  keep  them,  and  he  could  contrive  no  way  to  secure 
thinking  of  them  at  the  right  time.  There  was  another  diffi- 
culty which  very  much  perplexed  and  troubled  Alonzo  in 
his  attempts  to  reform  himself.  Sometimes  it  seemed  im- 
possible for  him  to  control  his  wrong  feelings.  When  he 
became  vexed  and  irritated,  as  he  sometimes  did,  about  his 
work,  or  when  out  of  humor  on  account  of  some  restraint 
which  his  mother  laid  upon  him,  he  was  conscious  that  his 
feelings  were  wrong,  and  he  would  struggle  against  them, 
as  he  said,  with  all  his  strength,  but  he  could  not  conquer 
them.  He  thought  he  succeeded  partially;  but  he  was 
deceived.  It  was  even  worse  than  he  supposed.  For  all 
the  effect  of  his  struggling  was  only  to  restrain  the  outward 
manifestation  of  his  feelings,  while  they  burned  on,  in  his 
heart,  the  same.  They  were  too  strong  for  him,  he  per- 
ceived ;  and  then  in  his  despondency  he  would  get  lost  in 
the  metaphysical  difficulties  of  the  question,  how  far  he 
could  be  blamed  for  what  it  seemed  to  him  he  could  not  help. 
Thus,  in  ordinary  temptations,  Alonzo  never  could  think 
of  his  resolutions,  and  in  extraordinary  ones,  he  never 
could  keep  them,  and  he  knew  not  what  to  do.  And  yet 
he  was  not  very  solicitous  or  anxious  about  it.  There  was 
indeed  a  vague  idea  floating  in  his  mind  that  there  was  a 
great  work  to  be  done,  which  was  involved  in  some  pecu- 
liar difficulties, — a  work  which  he  was  yet  only  partially 
performing.  He  determined  to  take  hold  of  it  soon,  in 
earnest.  In  the  winter,  it  was  so  cold  that  he  could  not 
conveniently  spend  as  much  time  alone  as  he  wished.  He 
thought  that  when  the  warm  spring  evenings  should  come, 
he  could  enjoy  more  solitude,  and  that  the  spring,  there- 
fore, would  be  a  more  convenient  season.  When  the 
spring  came,  they  were  pressed  with  work,  and  Alonzo 
looked  forward  for  a  time  of  a  little  greater  leisure.  But 
when  planting  was  done,  there  was  haying,  and  after  hay- 


34  THfi    WAY    TO    DO    GOOD.  [Ch.  1. 

Alonzo's  new  home.  Preparations.  Taking  possession. 

ing,  harvesting.  Then  Alonzo  thought  that  in  a  few  months 
he  should  be  free,  and  that  he  would  make  such  arrange- 
ments as  to  have  the  more  perfect  command  of  his  own 
time.  Thus  he  passed  on,  thinking  that  he  was  watching 
for  an  opportunity  to  do  his  duty.  But  he  was  deceived. 
The  secret  was,  an  innate  dislike  and  repugnance  to  the 
work  of  doing  it.  There  was  a  strange  inconsistency  in 
his  ideas.  When  he  tried  to  purify  and  reform  his  heart, 
he  found,  or  thought  he  found,  that  he  could  not  do  it.  And 
yet  he  had  an  impression,  vague  and  undefined,  and  yet 
fixed  and  confided  in,  that  he  could  take  it  up  easily  at  any 
time,  and  therefore  it  was  of  the  less  consequence  that  he 
waited  for  a  little  more  convenient  season. 

This  postponement  of  a  thorough  attention  to  the  work, 
did  not  give  him  any  particular  uneasiness,  for  he  was 
conscious  that  though  he  was  not  doing  his  duty  quite  in 
earnest  enough,  he  still  was  not  entirely  neglecting  it 

Alonzo's  father  had  purchased  for  him  a  small  farm,  a 
mile  or  two  from  his  own,  and  Alonzo  was  now,  for  some 
months,  much  interested  in  his  preparations  for  taking  pos- 
session of  it  when  he  should  be  twenty-one;  and  then  for 
many  months  afterwards,  his  whole  soul  was  engrossed  in 
his  plans  and  labors  for  repairing  the  premises,  getting  his 
stock  in  good  order,  and  putting  the  first  seed  of  his  own 
into  the  ground.  During  these  months,  he  remained 
still  a  member  of  his  father's  family,  his  own  little  farm- 
house being  empty  and  desolate.  Occasionally,  however, 
a  piece  of  furniture  was  brought  there,  and  he  would  carry 
it  in  and  fix  it  in  its  place,  and  then  survey  it  again  and 
again  with  a  look  of  satisfaction.  First  came  a  stained 
birch  bureau,  then  a  half  dozen  of  chairs,  then  a  bedstead. 
A  few  simple  implements  for  the  kitchen  followed,  and  a 
load  of  wood  was  piled  up  in  the  yard, — in  short  the  house 
began  to  look  as  if  it  was  really  intended  to  be  occupied. 

At  length,  one  evening,  lights  were  seen  by  the  distant 
neighbors  in  both  the  rooms, — for  there  were  but  two. 


Ch.    1.]  WORKS    AND    FAITH.  35 

A  hard  duty.  Conscience  again. 

Busy  preparations  were  going  forward,  and  at  eight  o'clock, 
Alonzo  drove  up  to  his  door  in  his  own  sleigh,  and  handed 
out,  first  his  sister,  and  then  the  bride,  whom  he  had  brought 
to  share  with  him  the  responsibilities  of  his  new  home. 

Alonzo  led  his  horse  away  to  the  barn,  took  off  the  har- 
ness and  fastened  him  to  his  crib,  previously  filled  to  the 
top  with  hay.  While  doing  this,  he  could  not  help  think- 
ing of  his  obligati£>ns  to  God  for  the  circumstances  of  pros- 
perity, and  the  prospects  of  happiness  under  which  his  life 
had  been  commenced.  He  thought  he  ought  to  be  grateful. 
But  this,  as  he  afterwards  found,  was  a  different  thing  from 
actually  being  grateful.  At  any  rate,  he  could  not  help 
thinking  of  his  obligations,  and  of  the  duty  of  gratitude, 
and  this  reminded  him  of  the  question  whether  he  should 
commence,  that  evening,  family  prayer. 

"It  is  your  duty  to  do  it;-'  said  Conscience. 

"  You  will  not  do  it  properly.  You  will  be  embarrassed 
and  perplexed:   you  cannot  begin  to-night,"  said  Distrust. 

"  Still,"  said  Conscience  again,  "it  is  yourdt(/i/todo  it.  ' 

"  You  had  better  wait  a  day  or  two  till  you  get  settled, — 
it  will  be  much  easier,  and  more  pleasant  then,"  said  a 
lying  spirit  of  evasion  and  delay. 

"It  is  ijoiir  duly  to  do  it  to-night,^'  murmured  Con- 
science again.  -^       fiHime*: 

Distracted  by  the  discordant  thoughts  within  him,  Alonzo 
cut  short  their  clamor,  by  saying  to  himself  that  he  could 
not  begin  that  night,  and  hurried  in;  and  the  murmurs  of 
conscience  grew  feebler,  and  feebler,  and  at  length  died 
completely  away. 

Alonzo  was  not  to  blame  for  his  diffidence, — he  was  not 
to  blame  for  shrinking  from  embarrassment,  or  for  consider- 
ing the  duty  before  him  a  real  trial, -r-but  if  he  had  actually 
been  grateful  to  God  for  his  goodness,  instead  of  merely 
thinking  that  he  ought  to  be  so,  he  would  have  pressed  for- 
ward with  alacrity  to  the  fulfilment  of  this  (hity  towards 
him,  even  if  it  had  been  ten  times  as  painful  to  perform. 


.i'W*'- 


36  THE   WAY   TO   DO    GOOD.  [Ch.    1. 

No  gain  in  delay.  The  inquiry  meeting.  Scene. 

Alonzo  found  it  harder  and  harder  to  begin,  the  longer 
he  postponed  it.  A  month  passed  away,  and  the  duly 
continued  to  be  neglected.  It  was  his  design  to  read  the 
Bible  every  day,  but  it  seemed  rather  awkward  to  sit  down 
before  his  wife,  and  read  it  silently  and  alone,  and  he 
gradually  neglected  that.  At  night  as  he  went  to  bed,  he 
usually  offered  a  sort  of  brief  ejaculation,  which  was,  in 
fact,  though  he  did  not  perceive  it,  a  sort  of  compromise  to 
Conscience,  to  induce  her  to  let  him  rest  in  peace.  He  did 
not,  however,  feel  happy  in  this  mode  of  life.  Uneasiness 
and  anxiety  rankled  in  his  heart  more  and  more,  and  one 
evening,  after  hearing  a  plain  and  heartfelt  sermon  from  his 
minister  in  the  school-house  near  his  farm,  he  heard  him, 
with  pleasure,  appoint,  what  in  New  England  is  called  '*  an 
inquiry  meeting,"  the  next  evening,  at  his  house.  The 
design  of  such  a  meeting,  is,  to  afford  an  opportunity  for 
more  plain  and  direct  and  familiar  religious  instruction  to 
those  who  feel  a  personal  interest  in  it,  than  the  formal 
discourse,  offered  to  a  promiscuous  assembly,  can  well 
contain. 

Alonzo  and  his  wife  both  resolved  to  go, — and  early  in 
the  evening,  they  took  their  seats  with  twenty  others 
around  their  pastor's  fireside.  Such  a  meeting  is  one  of 
great  interest  and  solemnity.  It  is  understood  that  all 
present  feel  a  direct  personal  interest  in  respect  to  their 
own  salvation,  and  they  come  together  with  a  stillness 
and  solemnity,  which  scarcely  any  other  assembly  ex- 
hibits. 

The  pastor  sat  by  the  side  of  the  fire.  First  he  read  a 
hymn.  It  was  not  sung.  Then  he  offered  a  short  and 
simple  prayer.  He  then  addressed  the  little  assembly 
much  as  follows. 

"The  most  important  question  which  you  can  ask  re- 
specting yourselves,  is,  *  Am  I  the  friend  or  the  enemy  of 
my  Maker? '     Now,  probably,  there  is  not  one  here,  who 


Ch,  1.]  WORKS    AND   FAITH.  37 

The  Pastor's  remarks.  Common  mistakes  made. 

really  feels  that  he  is  his  Maker's  enemy,  and  yet  it  is  very 
possible  that  there  is  not  one  who  is  not  so. 

"  God  justly  requires  us  all  to  love  him, — that  is,  to  feel 
a  personal  affection  for  him,  and  to  act  under  the  influence 
of  it.  They  who  do  not,  he  considers  as  not  belonging  to 
his  spiritual  family.  They  are  his  enemies.  Not  that  they 
are  employed  directly  and  intentionally  in  opposing  him; — 
they  make  perhaps  no  demonstrations  of  actual  hostility; 
but  in  heart,  they  dislike  him.  To  determine,  therefore, 
whether  we  are  the  friends  or  the  enemies  of  God,  we  must 
ascertain  whether  our  secret  hearts  are  in  a  state  of  lovCj 
or  of  dislike  towards  him. 

"  Methinks,  now,  I  hear  you  say  to  yourselves,  while  I 
make  these  remarks,  '  I  am  sure  I  love  God  in  some  degree, 
though  1  know  I  do  not  love  him  as  much  as  I  ought.  I 
pray  to  him,  I  try  in  some  things  to  do  my  duty,  I  am,  in 
some  degree  at  teast,  grateful  for  his  goodness,  and  1 
cannot  perceive  in  myself  any  evidence  of  a  feeling  of 
dislike  or  hostility.'  " 

The  pastor  was  right,  at  least  in  one  instance,  for  these 
were  exactly  the  thoughts  which  were  passing  through 
Alonzo's  mind. 

"Now,  it  is  a  difficult  thing  to  tell,"  continued  he, 
*'  what  the  state  of  our  hearts  is, — or  rather  it  is  a  very 
easy  and  a  very  common  thing  to  be  deceived  about  it.  I 
will  tell  you  how. 

"1.  By  mistaking  approbation,  for  love.  We  cannot 
help  approving  God's  character.  We  cannot  deny  the 
excellence  of  justice,  mercy  and  holiness,  any  more  than 
we  can  the  directness  of  a  straight  line  which  we  look 
upon.  Approbation  is  the  decision  of  the  intellect  or  of 
the  moral  sense,  which  is  entirely  independent  of  the  feel- 
ings of  the  heart.  I  once  asked  a  young  man  whether  he 
thought  he  loved  God.  '  O  yes,'  said  he,  '  certainly]^  I 
■      4 


38  THE    WAY  TO   DO    GOOD.  [Ch.    I. 

Difference  between  understanding  and  feeling. 

think  our  Maker  is  worthy  of  all  our  praise  and  gratitude.' 
He  was  blind  to  the  distinction,  you  see,  completely.  He 
thought  his  Maker  was  worthy.  Of  course; — he  could  not 
help  thinking  so.  The  question  is  not,  whether  God  is 
worthy  of  love  and  gratitude,  but  whether,  in  our  hearts, 
we  really  render  these  feelings.  Now  it  is  very  possible 
that  if  you  look  honestly  into  your  hearts,  you  will  find  that 
all  your  supposed  love  for  God,  is  only  a  cold,  intellectual 
admission  of  the  excellence  of  his  character.  This  may 
exist  without  any.  personal  feelings  of  affection  towards 
him. 

"2.  The  second  delusion  is  similar.  We  pray  and 
we  make  effort  to  confine  our  attention  to  our  prayers, — 
or,  as  we  term  it,  to  think  what  we  are  saying.  This  we 
mistake  for  really  feeling  the  desires  which  we  express.  I 
doubt  not  that  many  of  you  are  in  the  habit  of  prayer,  and 
that  you  often  strive  to  confine  your  mind  to  what  you  are 
saying.  Now  you  may  do  all  this,  without  having  in  the 
heart  any  real  desires  for  the  forgiveness  and  the  holiness 
and  the  other  blessings  you  seek.  In  fact,  the  very  effort 
you  make  to  confine  your  mind,  proves,  or  rather  indicates 
very  strongly,  that  the  heart  is  somewhere  else;  for  the 
mind  goes  easily  where  the  heart  is,  and  stays  there,  with 
out  any  great  effort  to  confine  it, 

"3.  There  is  another  delusion,  similar  to  the  foregoing. 
Thanking  God  without  gratitude.  We  see  that  he  is  our 
benefactor,  and  that  he  deserves  our  gratitude.  We  say 
this,  and  feel  satisfied  with  it, — never  reflecting  that  this  is 
a  very  different  thing  from  actually  feeling  gratitude. 

"For  instance,  we  may  rise  in  the  morning,  and  look 
out  upon  the  pleasant  landscape  before  us,  in  the  midst  of 
which  we  are  to  work  during  the  day,  and  think  of  our 
pleasant  home,  our  friends,  and  all  our  comforts  and  means 
of  happiness,  which  we  are  now  to  enjoy  for  another  day, — 
the  thought  of  all  these  things  gives  us  pleasure.  We  feel 
a  lHhd  of  complacency  in  them,  which,  connected  with  our 


Ch.    1.]  WORKS  AND   FAITH,  39 

Spurious  gratitude.  Indications  of  enmity. 


knowing  that  they  come  from  God,  we  mistake  for  grati- 
tude. We  thus  often  think  we  are  grateful,  when  the 
only  feeling  is  a  plcascml  recognition  of  the  good  enjoyed. 
The  difference  is  shown  in  this,  that  this  latter  feeling  has 
no  effect  upon  the  conduct,  whereas  real  gratitude  will  lead 
us  to  take  pleasure  in  doing  our  benefactor's  will.  Even 
a  painful  duty  will  become  a  pleasant  one,  for  we  always 
love  to  make  a  sacrifice  for  one  who  has  been  kind  to  us, 
if  we  are  really  grateful  to  him." 

Alonzo  here  recollected  the  evening  when  he  took  pos- 
session of  his  new  hon\e,  thinking  that  he  was  grateful  to 
God  for  it,  while  yet  "  he  could  not  "  do  that  evening  what 
he  knew  was  God's  will. 

"  In  a  word,"  continued  the  pastor,  "  we  mistake  the 
convictions  of  the  understanding,  and  of  the  moral  sense, 
for  the  movements  of  the  heart;  whereas,  the  former  may 
be  all  right,  and  the  latter  all  wrong. 

"I  will  tell  you  now,  some  of  the  indications,  that  a  per- 
son really  in  heart  dislikes  God,  even  if  his  understanding 
is  right  in  respect  to  his  character  and  his  favors. 

"1.  When  his  feelings  do  not  go  forth  spontaneously 
and  pleasantly  towards  him.  Payson  once  said  to  his 
child,  '  Have  you  not  sometimes  felt,  when  thinking  of 
some  person  whom  you  loved,  and  who  was  away  from  you, 
as  if  your  heart  ivent  out  to  that  person,  and  then  it  seemed 
as  if  the  distance  between  you  was  lessened,  though  it  was 
not  in  reality.''  On  the  other  hand,  when  you  think  of  a 
person  whom  you  do  not  like,  your  heart  draws  back,  as  it 
were,  and  shrinks  coldly  from  him.  Now  just  tell  me  in 
which  of  these  ways  it  is  affected  when  you  think  of  God.'  " 

Alonzo  recollected  how  readily,  when  he  was  at  work  on 
the  hill  side,  or  in  the  distant  forest,  his  thoughts  and  afiec- 
tions  would  roam  away  to  his  wife  and  his  home,  and  h<#er 


40  THE    WAT   TO   DO   GOXJD.  [Ch.     f. 

Alonzo'a  self  application.  The  closing  prayer^ 


there.     He  saw  too  clearly,  also,  that  his  heart  never  thus 
sought  God. 

''Another  evidence  of  our  dishking  God,  is,  wh^n  we 
escape  from  his  presence  as  soon  as  we  can.  When  we 
cut  short  our  prayers,  and  our  thoughts  come  back  with  a 
spring  to  our  business  or  our  pleasures,  as  if  we  had  kept 
them  on  God  for  a  few  minutes,  by  force; — when  the 
Sabbath  is  a  weariness,  and  secret  communion  with  him  a 
burden.*' 

Alonzo  felt  that  the  pastor  was  describing  his  feelings, 
exactly. 

''  3.  Also  when  we  hold  back  a  little  from  cordial  ac- 
quiescence in  God's  justice,  and  in  his  fearful  decision 
in  punishing  sin,  both  as  exhibited  in  his  daily  dealings 
of  mankind,  and  in  the  Bible.  We  shrink  from  some 
things  in  his  administration,  just  as  one  condemned  male- 
factor is  shocked  at  what  he  calls  the  cruelty  of  the  gov- 
ernment in  executing  another.  <^>  !  s^  >j»* 

"  Now  do  you,  when  examiaed  by  these  tests,  love  God, 
or  dislike  him?  " 

It  was  plain  from  the  appearance  of  the  assembly,  that 
they  felt  condemned.  The  pastor  perceived  that  they 
pleaded  guilty.     He  closed  his  remarks  by  these  words, 

* '  You  ought  to  love  God.  He  commands  you  to  do  it. 
You  ought  to  have  loved  him  all  your  lives; — you  ought  ta 
love  him  now.  He  will  forgive  all  the  past  for  his  Son's 
sake,  if  you  will  now  simply  turn  your  hearts  to  him.. 
Ought  you  not  to  do  it?  '^ 

"A  will  do  it,"  thought  Alonzo,  as  they  kneeled  once 
moiS,   to  offer  their  parting  prayer.     The  pastor  uttered 


Gh.    1.]  WORKS    AND    FAITH.  41 


Alonzo  In  deeper  difficulty  than  ever. 


expressions  of  penitence,  gratitude,  affection,  but  Alonzo 
perceived  that  notwithstanding  his  determination,  his  heart 
did  not  follow.  The  more  he  tried  to  force  himself  to  love 
God,  the  more  clearly  he  perceived  the  distinctions  which 
the  pastor  had  been  drawing,  and  the  more  painfully 
evident  it  was  to  him,  that  he  had  no  heart  to  love  God. 
He  rose  from  his  knees  with  a  thought, — half  impatience 
and  half  despair, — "  I  do  not  love  him,  and  I  cannot  love 
him.     What  shall  I  do.?" 

For  many  weeks,  Alonzo  was  much  discouraged  and 
distressed.  He  saw  more  and  more  clearly,  that  he  did 
not  love  God,  and  that  he  never  had  loved  him.  Con- 
science upbraided  him  and  he  had  little  peace.  Yet  he 
would  not  come  and  yield  his  heart  to  his  Maker.  He 
thought  he  wished  to  do  it, — as  if  it  were  possible  for  a 
person  to  wish  to  love,  without  loving.  He  struggled, — 
but  struggling  did  no  good.  What  God  commands  us  to 
do,  is  to  love  him,  not  to  struggle  against  our  hatred  of 
him.  He  set  a  double  watch  over  his  conduct;  he  was 
more  regular  in  his  prayers,  more  attentive  to  the  Scrip- 
tures, and  to  every  means  of  instruction.  But  all  seemed 
to  do  no  good.  His  heart  was  still  alienated  from  God, 
and  it  seemed  to  him  to  become  alienated  more  and  more 

There  were  three  great  difficulties  which  he  experienced 
and  which  perplexed  and  troubled  him  exceedingly. 

First,  it  really  seemed  to  him  that  he  could  not  change 
his  heart;  he  could  not  force  himself  to  love  God  and  re- 
pent of  sin.  He  also  could  not  help  the  wrong  and  wicked 
feelings  which  often  raged  within  him,  on  occasions  of 
peculiar  temptation.  I  am  aware  that  the  theological 
philosophers  disagree  on  this  subject,  but  it  really  seemed 
to  Alonzo,  that  his  wicked  heart  was  too  strong  for  him. 
This  thought,  however,  did  not  make  him  easy.  Con- 
science upbraided  him  the  more,  for  being  in  such  a  state 
of  heart  towards  God. 

Secondly,  the  more  he  thought  of  the  subject,  and  the 
4* 


42  THE   WAY    TO    DO   GOOl).  [Cll.   1. 

"  Sin  revived."  Conviction  not  conversion. 

more  he  tried  to  make  himself  fit  for  heaven,  the  more  hol- 
low and  superficial  and  hypocritical  he  found  all  his  suppos- 
ed goodness  to  be.  The  law  of  God  claiming  his  heart, 
had  come  home  to  his  apprehension,  and  brought  a  new 
standard  before  him.  His  supposed  gratitude  and  peni- 
tence, his  prayers,  and  all  the  virtues  on  which  he  had 
prided  himself,  resolved  themselves  into  elements  of  cor- 
ruption and  sin,  under  the  powerful  analysis  of  the  Spirit. 

Thirdly,  in  trying  to  correct  his  sinful  habits,  his  pro- 
gress in  discovering  his  sins  went  on  far  in  advance  of 
his  success  in  purifying  himself  from  them,  so  that  in  his 
attempts  to  reform  his  heart,  he  was  continually  alarmed  at 
new  and  unexpected  exposures.  In  fact  the  law  of  God 
had  come  home  to  him,  and  as  oil  upon  the  fresh  surface 
of  a  variegated  wood,  brings  out  the  dark  stains  which  had 
before  been  invisible,  it  developed  corruptions  and  sins 
in  his  heart,  which  he  had  never  supposed  to  be  slumber-^ 
ing  there.  He  was  alive  without  the  law  once,  but  when 
the  commandment  came,  sin  revived  and  he  died; — his 
heart  sunk  within  him,  to  see  his  sad  spiritual  condition. 
In  a  word,  Alonzo  opened  his  eyes  to  the  fact  that  the  ex- 
cellences of  character  which  circumstances  had  produced 
in  him,  were  external,  and  superficial,  and  that  he  was  in 
heart,  and  that  he  always  had  been,  the  enemy  of  God,  and 
the  miserable,  helpless  slave  of  sin. 

Though  he  was  thus,  in  some  degree,  aware  of  the  con- 
dition of  his  heart,  yet  that  condition  was  not  altered. 
The  trouble  with  him  was,  that  he  still  disliked  God,  and 
loved  the  world  and  sin,  but  conscience  pressed  him  with 
the  guilt  of  it,  and  he  feared  a  judgment  to  come.  Instead 
however,  of  throwing  himself  fully  upon  God  and  giving 
him  his  heart,  he  still  kept  away,  alienated  and  miserable. 
He  had  certain  excuses  with  which  he  unconsciously  de- 
ceived himself,  and  was  gradually  lulling  his  conscience  to 
rest,  when  one  day  he  had  a  private  interview  with  his 
pasfcr,  iu  which  he  presented  his  excuses,  and  they  were 


Ch.  I.]  WORKS  AND  rAifrt.  43 

Alonzo'a  excuses  and  difflciillies  His  heart. 


answered.     These  excuses,  and  the  replies  made  by  the 
pastor  to  thepn,  were,  in  substance,  somewhat  as  follows. 

''  I  do  feel,  sir,  that  I  am  a  most  miserable  sinner,  but  I 
do  not  know  what  to  do.  I  have  been  now  seeking  reli- 
gion for  many  years,  and  the  more  I  seek  it,  the  farther  I 
seem  to  be  from  it." 

"  What  more  then,  can  you  do?  " 
*•  I  am  sure  I  do  not  know." 

"  Then  why  does  not  your  heart  rest  quietly  in  the 
consciousness  of  having  been  faithful  to  the  utmost  in 
duty?     God  requires  no  more." 

Alonzo  hung  his  head.  He  perceived  the  absurdity  of 
his  excuse, 

"No,"  said  his  pastor;  "You  show  by  that  remark, 
how  easily  and  completely  the  heart  deceives  itself.  Up- 
braided as  you  are  by  conscience,  for  guilt  in  disliking 
and  disobeying  God, — reproached  so  severely  and  continu- 
ally too,  that  you  cannot  rest,  you  yet  say  to  me  that  which 
implies  that  you  have  done  and  are  doing  all  which  God 
requires." 

Alonzo  sighed;    it  was  too  true. 

"I  know  it,"  said  he;  "It  is  just  so.  I  continually 
find  some  new  proof  of  the  corruption  and  deceitfulness  of 
my  heart.  I  want  to  change  it,  but  it  seems  to  me  that  I 
cannot." 

"  You  speak  as  if  your  heart  were  one  party,  and  you 
another,  and  as  if  you  were  right,  and  all  the  blame  rested 
upon  your  heart,  as  an  enemy  that  had  insinuated  itself  by 
some  means  into  your  bosom.  Now  what  is  your  heart?— 
why  it  is  simply  yourself; — your  moral  character  and  moral 
feelings.*  To  talk  of  a  contention  between  yourself  and 
your  heart,  is  a  complete  absurdity,  for  the  parties  in  the 
contest  are  one  and  the  self-same  thing.  The  struggle,  if 
there  is  any,  is  between  the  claims  of  God's  law,  urged  by 
his  Spirit,  on  the  one  side,  and  you  or  your  heart  resisting 

*  Payson. 


44  THE    WAY   TO    DO    GOOD.  [Ch.    1. 

Helplessness.  Struggling  with  sin. 

on  the  other.  He  commands  you  to  give  him  your  heart, 
that  is  y  our  self ^-^y  our  affections,  your  love,  and  you  do 
not  do  it." 

"  I  know  it,  but  it  seems  to  me  that  I  cannot  help  it.     T 

am  conscious  that  my  affections  are  not  given  to  God, — 

they  will  cling  to  the  world  and  sin,  and  I  cannot  help  it." 

*'The  feelings  however,  which  you  cannot  help,   you 

admit  to  be  wrong  feelings." 

*'  Yes  sir,  I  feel  and  know  they  are  wrong,  and  that  is 
what  makes  me  miserable." 

"  Then  you  are  more  guilty  than  I  supposed.  What 
should  you  say,  if  you  knew  of  a  man  who  said  he  had 
such  an  uncontrollable  desire  to  steal,  or  to  kill,  that  he 
could  not  help  continually  committing  these  crimes.'*  Should 
you  think  him  worse  or  better  than  those  who  sinned 
occasionally  under  strong  temptation.'*  " 

"  But  I  struggle  against  the  feelings,  and  cannot 
conquer  them." 

"And  suppose  such  a  man  as  I  have  described,  should 
meet  you  in  a  lonely  place,  and  should  tell  you  that  he 
must  rob  and  murder  you, — that  he  had  been  struggling 
against  the  disposition,  but  it  was  too  strong  for  him. 
What  would  you  think  of  him.''  Why  plainly,  that  he  was 
a  man  of  extraordinary  depravity.  The  greater  the  strug- 
gle, the  greater  the  evidence  of  the  wickedness  which 
could  not  be  overcome.  Our  duty  is  to  feel  right  towards 
God,  not  to  struggle  with  wr&ng  feelings." 

"  I  feel  that  that  is  true.  But  what  to  do,  I  do  not 
know.  It  does  seem  to  me  that  I  want  to  repent  of  sin 
and  forsake  it,  but — but — " 

"  But  you  do  not,  and  therefore  it  is  impossible  that  you 
should  want  to.  There  is  no  force  applied  to  you,  to  con- 
tinue you  in  sin.  If  there  was,  your  conduct  would  not 
be  sin.  To  wish  to  repent,  without  repenting,  is  as  im- 
possible and  absurd,  as  to  wish  to  be  sorry  for  something 
for   which  you  are  really  glad.      I   have  no  doubt  you 


J  I'   Ch.    1.]  WORKS    AND    FAITH.  45 

Beginning  life  anew,  a  vain  wish. 

really  think  you  wish  to  repent,  but  I  think  you  deceive 
yourself.  What  you  wish  for,  is  some  of  the  results  which 
you  suppose  ivould  follow  from  repentance.  This  is  what 
the  desires  of  your  mind  rest  upon;  but  repentance  itself 
looks  disagreeable  and   repulsive,  and  as  you  cannot  gain 

I.,    those  results  in  any  other  way,  you  are  troubled  and  dis- 
^    tressed." 

Alonzo  saw  at  once  by  a  glance  within,  that  this  was 
true.  He  longed  for  peace  of  mind,  relief  from  the  re- 
proaches of  conscience, — ^the  reputation  and  the  standing 
of  a  Christian  here,  and  assurance  of  safety  and  happiness 
hereafter;  but  he  perceived  that  he  did  not  long  for  peni- 
tence itself.  It  was  a  disagreeable  means  of  obtaining  a 
desirable  end.  He  was  silent  for  a  few  moments,  and  then 
he  said,  with  a  sigh, 

"  Oh,  how  I  wish  I  could  begin  life  anew.  I  would  live 
in  a  very  different  manner  from  what  I  have  done." 

"  That  remark  shows  how  little  you  know,  after  all,  of 
your  own  character,  and  of  the  way  of  salvation.  It  is  not 
by  purifying  ourselves,  and  thus  making  ourselves  fit  for 
heaven, — or  by  any  such  ideas  as  should  suggest  the  plan 
of  beginning  life  anew.  If  you  should  begin,  you  would 
undoubtedly  be  again  as  you  have  been." 

Alonzo  saw  that  this  was  true.  He  was  ashamed  that 
he  had  expressed  such  a  wish,  and  at  length  asked,  in  a 
sorrowful  desponding  tone,  whether  his  pastor  could  say 
nothing  to  aid  or  guide  him. 

"I  do  not  know  that  I  can,"  was  the  reply.  "The 
difficulty  is  not  the  want  of  knowledge  of  duty,  but  the 
want  of  a  heart  to  do  it.  If  you  had  the  right  desires,  your 
difficulties  would  all  be  over  in  a  moment,  but  as  you  have 
not,  I  cannot  impart  them.  Since  you  are  thus  bent  on  sin, 
God  alone  can  change  you. 

"  I  will  ask  you,  however,  one  question.  Do  you  clearly 
understand  what  this  verse  means,  '  For  they,  being  igno- 
rant of  God's  rigliteousness,  and  going  about  to  establish 


46  THE    WAY    TO    DO    GOOD.  [Ch.   1. 

Self  righteousness.  Repairing  an  old  house. 

their  own  righteousness,  have  not  submitted  themselves  to 
the  righteousness  of  God;  for  Christ  is  the  end  of  the  law 
for  righteousness  to  every  one  that  believeth.'  " 
*'  No  sir,  I  have  never  thought  of  it  particularly." 
"You  feel  in  some  degree  the  hopelessness  of  your 
condition,  if  God  should  leave  you  to  yourself  You  have 
been  neglecting  your  highest  duty  all  your  days,  and  in 
your  efforts  to  seek  religion,  you  have  been  endeavoring 
to  set  yourself  right,  with  an  idea  of  thus  recommending 
yourself  to  God's  favor.  You  have  been  discouraged  and 
disheartened  by  this  hopeless  labor,  for  the  farther  you 
proceed  in  your  efforts  to  repair  your  character,  the  more 
deep  and  extended  do  you  find  the  proofs  of  its  inherent 
corruption  and  depravity. 

"  You  are  like  the  man  attempting  to  repair  a  house 
gone  thoroughly  to  decay,"  continued  the  pastor,  and  as 
he  said  these  words,  he  took  down  from  a  little  set  of 
shelves  behind  him,  a  small  volume,  from  which  he  read 
the  following  passage. 

"  *  The  sinner  going  about  to  establish  a  righteousness 
of  his  own,  is  like  a  man  endeavoring  to  repair  his  house, 
which  had  thoroughly  gone  to  decay  When  he  begins, 
there  is  a  tolerably  fair  exterior.  It  appears  as  if  a  few 
nails  to  tighten  what  is  loose, — -a  little  new  flooring, — and 
here  and  there  a  fresh  sill,  will  render  all  snug  again ;  and 
that  by  means  of  these,  together  With  paint  and  paper  and 
white-wash,  to  give  the  proper  superficial  decoration,  all 
will  be  well, — or  i\t  least,  thd;t  his  building  will  be  as  good 
as  his  neighbor's.  When  he  begins,  however,  he  finds  that 
there  is  a  little  more  to  be  done  than  he  had  expected. 
The  first  board  that  he  removes  in  order  to  replace  it  by  a 
better,  reveals  one  in  a  worse  condition  behind  it.  He 
drives  a  nail  to  tighten  a  clapboard,  and  it  slumps  into  de- 
cayed wood  behind,  taking  no  hold;  he  takes  away  more, 
by  little  and  little,  hoping  at  every  removal,  to  come  to  the 


Ch.    1.]  WORKS    AND    FAITH.  47 

The  parallel  case.  The  true  way  of  salvation. 

end  of  what  is  unsound;  but  he  finds  that  the  more  he  does, 
the  more  disheartened  and  discouraged  he  feels,  for  his 
progress  in  learning  the  extent  of  the  decay,  keeps  far  in 
advance  of  his  progress  in  repairing  it,  until  at  last,  he 
finds  to  his  consternation,  that  every  beam  is  gone, — every 
rafter  worm-eaten  and  decayed,  the  posts  pulverized  by 
the  dry  rot,  and  the  foundations  cracked  and  tottering. 
There  is  no  point  to  start  frorp,  in  making  his  repairs,  no 
foundation  to  build  upon.  The  restoration  of  the  edifice  to 
strength  and  beauty,  can  never  be  accomplished,  and  if  it 
could,  the  expense  would  far  exceed  his  pecuniary  power. 
His  building  only  looks  the  worse  for  his  having  broken  its 
superficial  continuity.  He  has  but  revealed  the  corruption 
which  he  never  can  remove  or  repair.' 

"  Now  does  not  this  correspond  with  your  efforts  and 
disappointments  during  the  last  few  months?" 

"Exactly,"  said  Alonzo. 

"  And  your  case  is  hopeless  if  God  leaves  you  to  your- 
self You  cannot  he  saved.  It  is  not  that  you  cannot  come 
and  be  the  child  of  God  if  you  wish  to,  but  you  cannot 
come,  because  you  do  not  wish  to. 

"Now  this  being  your  condition,  you  need  a  Savior. 
There  is  one  for  you.  If  you  wish,  you  can  come  and 
unite  yourself  with  him.  If  you  do,  through  his  sufferings 
and  death  you  may  be  freely  forgiven.  The  responsibility, 
the  liability,  so  to  speak,  for  the  past  will  be  cut  off*.  The 
Savior  assumes  all  that  burden  and  you  may  go  free.  By 
coming  and  giving  yourself  up  wholly  to  him,  you  bring 
your  past  life  as  it  were  to  a  close,  and  begin  a  new 
spiritual  life,  which  comes  from  union  with  him.  The 
burden  of  past  guilt  is  like  a  heavy  chain,  which  you  have 
been  dragging  along,  until  it  is  too  heavy  to  be  borne  any 
longer.  Union  with  Christ  sunders  it  at  a  blow,  and  you  go 
forward  free  and  happy,  forgiven  for  all  the  past,  and  for 
the  future  enjoying  a  new  spiritual  life,  which  you  will  draw 


48  THE    WAY    TO    DO    GOOD.  [Ch.   1. 

Alonzo  renewed.  His  walk  home.  New  desires. 

from  him.  In  a  word,  you  abandon  your  own  character, 
with  the  feelings  with  which  a  man  would  abandon  a  wreck, 
and  take  refuge  with  Jesus  Christ  who  will  receive  you, 
and  procure  for  you  forgiveness  for  the  past,  and  strength 
for  the  future,  by  means  of  his  own  righteousness  and  suf- 
ferings." 

Alonzo  had  heard  the  way  of  salvation  by  Christ  ex- 
plained a  thousand  times  before,  but  it  always  seemed  a 
mysticism  to  him,  as  it  always  does  to  those  who  have  never 
seen  their  sins  and  felt  the  utter  hopelessness  of  their 
moral  condition.  As  long  as  man  is  deceived  about  his 
true  character,  he  needs  no  Savior.  But  when  he  detects 
himself, — when  his  eyes  are  opened,  and  his  deep  seated 
corruptions  are  exposed, — when  he  feels  the  chains  of  sin 
holding  him  with  a  relentless  gripe  in  hopeless  bondage, — 
then  he  finds  that  utter  self-abandonment  and  flying  for 
refuge  to  union  with  a  Savior  crucified  for  his  sins  — 
making  thus  as  it  were,  common  cause  with  a  divine  Re- 
deemer whose  past  suflTerings  may  be  of  avail  to  ransom 
him,  and  who  will  supply  new  spiritual  life  to  guide  him  in 
future, — he  finds  this  prospect  opens  to  him  a  refuge  just 
such  as  he  needs. 

As  Alonzo  walked  home  from  this  interview,  his  heart 
dwelt  with  delight  on  the  love  of  Christ  to  men,  in  thus 
making  arrangements  for  taking  lost  sinners  into  such  an 
union  with  him.  His  heart  was  full.  There  was  no  strug- 
gling to  feel  this  love  and  gratitude.  It  was  the  warm, 
spontaneous  movement  of  his  soul,  which  no  struggling 
could  have  suppressed.  He  longed  for  an  occasion  to  do 
something  to  evince  his  gratitude.  It  was  evening,  and  he 
looked  forward  with  delight  to  the  opportunity  of  calling 
together  his  family  to  establish  family  prayers.  He  al- 
most wished  that  the  exercise  was  twice  as  embarrassing  as 
it  was,  for  it  seemed  to  him  that  an  opportunity  to  suffer 
some  real  pain  or  sacrifice,  in  the  cause  of  his  Savior, 
would  be  a  high  enjoyment  to  him,  as  a  gratification  of  the 
new  feelings  of  love  which  burned  within  him. 


Ch.  1.]  WORKS    AND    FAITH.  49 

The  great  change.  Created  anew.  Address  to  the  reader. 

As  he  walked  along,  his  heart  clung,  as  it  were,  to  the 
Savior,  with  a  feeling  of  quiet  happiness.  In  former  days, 
fee  Ihougld  he  loved  hira,  deceived,  as  we  liav^c  already 
shown, — now  be  knew  he  loved  him.  He  saw  ''God  in 
Christ,  reconciling  the  world  unto  himself,"  and  the  Savior 
whom  he  there  saw  was  all  in  all. 

When  he  opened  his  bible,  old  familiar  passages,  which 
had  always  seemed  to  him  mystical  and  unintelligible, 
shone  with  new  meaning 

"  Christ  has  redeemed  us  from  the  curse  of  the  law, 
being  made  a  curse  for  us."  *' Being  justified  by  faith, 
we  have  peace  with  God  by  our  Lord  Jesus  Christ."  "  I 
am  crucified  with  Christ,  nevertheless  I  live, — but  the  life 
i  now  live  in  the  flesh,  I  live  by  faith  in  the  Son  of  God, 
who  loved  n>e  and  gave  himself  for  me." 

Alonzo  made  greater  efforts  to  do  his  duty  after  this,  than 
he  did  before,  but  it  was  for  a  different  object  and  in  a  dif- 
ferent way.  Then,  he  was  trying  to  establish  his  own 
righteousness,  so  as  to  fit  himself  for  heaven.  He  aban- 
doned  this  altogether  now,  having  hope  only  in  Christ, — 
undeserved  mercy  in  Christ.  He  however  made  great 
efforts  to  grow  in  grace  and  do  good  to  others, — but  it  was 
now  simply  because  he  loved  to  do  it.  Then  he  made 
these  efforts  as  an  unpleasant  but  a  supposed  necessary 
means  to  a  desired  end.  Now  he  hoped  to  secure  that  end 
in  another  way,  and  he  made  these  efforts,  because  they 
were  delightful  on  their  own  account.  He  was,  in  fact, 
a,  7iew  creature ;  a  '•' new  creature  in  Christ  Jesus;" — 
changed  not  by  his  vain  eflforts  to  establish  his  own  right- 
eousness, but  by  the  regenerating  influences  of  the  Holy 
Spirit,  altering  fundamentally  the  desires  and  affections  of 
his  inmost  soul. 

Reader! — in  going  forward  through  this  volume,  which 
will  explain  to  you  the  way  to  do  good,  if  your  aim  is 
secretly  or  openly  to  Jit  yourself,  by  your  good  deeds,  for  the 


50  THE    WAY    TO    DO    GOOD.  [Ch.  2. 

Conclusion.  Motives.  Happiness  secured  by  Doing  Good. 

approbation  of  God,  and  thus  to  procure  the  pardon  of  your 
sins, — the  farther  you  go,  and  the  greater  the  effort  you 
make,  the  more  discouraged  and  disheartened  you  will  be. 
For  your  progress  in  discovering  the  corruption  and  deprav- 
ity of  your  heart,  will  keep  far  in  advance  of  your  success 
in  correcting  or  repairing  it.  The  hopeless  task  may  as 
well  be  abandoned  in  the  beginning  as  at  the  end.  Come 
first  to  the  Savior.  Give  up  yourself,  your  character, — and 
all  the  hopes  you  may  have  founded  upon  it.  Unite  your- 
self with  Christ  as  the  branch  is  united  to  the  vine,  that  is, 
so  as  to  be  sustained  by  one  commoji  vitality.  This  will  of 
course  be  a  new  life  to  you,  a  spiritual  life,  without  which 
all  excellence  is  superficial,  all  hopes  of  eternal  happiness 
baseless,  and  all  real  peace  and  enjoyment  unknown. 


CHAPTER    II. 

MOTIVES. 
"  That  ye  may  be  the  children  of  your  Father  which  is  in  heaven." 

The  last  chapter  was  intended  to  show  the  reader  that 
the  impulse  which  should  lead  us  to  the  performance  of  good 
works  in  this  world  of  probation,  is  not  a  hope  of  thereby 
fitting  ourselves  by  meritorious  performances,  for  God's 
service  in  heaven;  but  a  spontaneous  love  for  God  and 
man,  urging  us  forward  in  such  a  course,  while  our  hope 
of  forgiveness  for  sin  rests  on  other  grounds  altogether. 
We  have  some  other  considerations  in  respect  to  the 
motives  which  ought  to  influence  us  in  doing  good,  which 
we  shall  present  in  this  chapter. 

By  engaging  in  the  work  of  doing  good  to  others,  we  do 
not  by  any  means  sacrifice  our  own  happiness.  We  often 
indeed,  give  up  some  of  the  ordinary  means  of  enjoyment, 
but  we  do  not  sacrifice  the  end.  We  secure  our  own  rich- 
est, purest  enjoyment,  though  in  a  new  and  better  way. 


Ch.  2.]  MOTIVES.  51 

Scene  at  home.  The  stormy  evening.  Enjoyments. 

We  change  the  character  of  our  happiness  too;  for  the 
pleasure  which  results  from  carrying  happiness  to  the 
hearts  of  others  is  very  different  in  its  nature  from  that 
which  we  secure  by  aiming  directly  at  our  own.  Now  the 
reader  ought  to  consider  these  things,  and  understand  dis- 
tinctly at  the  outset,  whether  he  is  in  such  a  state  of  mind 
and  heart  that  he  wishes  to  pursue  the  happiness  of  others, 
or  whether,  on  the  other  hand,  he  means  to  confine  his 
efforts  to  the  promotion  of  his  own. 

On  some  cold  winter  evening,  perhaps,  you  return  from 
the  business  of  the  day  to  your  home,  and  I  will  suppose 
that  you  have  there  the  comforts  of  life  all  around  you. 
You  draw  up  your  richly  stuffed  elbow  chair  by  the  side  of 
the  glowing  fire  which  beams  and  brightens  upon  the  scene 
of  elegance  which  your  parlor  exhibits.  A  new  and  en- 
tertaining book  is  in  your  hand,  and  fruits  and  refreshments 
are  by  your  side  upon  the  table.  Here  you  may  sit  hour 
after  hour,  enjoying  these  means  of  comfort  and  happiness, 
carried  away  perhaps  by  the  magic  of  the  pen  to  distant 
and  different  scenes,  from  which  you  return  now  and  then 
to  listen  a  moment  to  the  roaring  of  the  wintry  wind,  or  the 
beating  of  the  snow  upon  your  windows.  If  you  have  a 
quiet  conscience,  you  may  find  much  happiness  in  such 
a  scene,  especially  if  gratitude  to  God  as  the  bestower  of 
such  comforts,  and  as  your  kind  Protector  and  Friend, 
warms  your  heart  and  quickens  your  sensibilities.  Here 
you  may  sit  hour  af\er  hour,  until  Orion  has  made  his 
steady  way  through  the  clouds  and  storms  of  the  sky,  high 
into  the  heavens. 

But  still  though  this  might  be  enjoyment,  there  is  another 
way  of  spending  an  hour  of  the  evening  which  would  also 
afford  enjoyment,  though  of  a  different  kind.  You  lay 
aside  your  book, — trundle  back  your  cushioned  chair, — 
pack  your  fruit  and  refreshments  in  a  small  basket, — take 
down  from  your  secretary  a  little  favorite  volume  of  hymns, 
and  then  muffling  youself  as  warmly  as  possible  in  cap  and 
wrapper,  you  sally  forth  in  the  midst  of  the  storm. 


52  THE   WAY  ro  Da  GOOV.  [Ch.  2. 

Another  plan.  The  waflc..  The  sick  boy. 

The  brick  sidewalk  is  half  concealed  by  the  drifts  of  the 
snow,  amoDg  which  you  make  yoitr  slippery  way,  until  you 
turn  down  into  a  narrow  court,  guiding  your  steps  to  one 
of  its  humble  houses.  You  enter  by  a  low  door.  It  is  not, 
however,  the  abode  of  poverty.  There  is  comfort  and  plenty 
under  this  roof;-— on  a  different  scale  indeed,  from  that 
which  you  have  left  at  honrie,  though  perhaps  not  at  all  in- 
ferior in  respect  to  the  actual  enjoyment  they  afford. 

The  mother  who  welcomes  you  is  a  widow,  and  the  daily 
labor  of  her  hands  procure  for  her  all  that  is  necessary  for 
her  wants,  and  much  besides  which  she  eigoys  highly  as 
luxuriea.  She  enjoys  them  more  highly,  perhaps,  than  you 
do  the  costly  splendors  you  have  left.  Her  bright  brass 
lamps,  which  she  toiled  several  days  to  earn,  and  the  plain 
rocking  chair  in  the  comer,  are,  to  her,  as  much,  and  per- 
haps far  more,  than  your  tall  astral,  crowned  with  its  cut 
glass  shade,  or  your  spienGia  ottoman. 

In  a  word,  all  the  wants  of  this  family  are  well  supplied, 
so  that  I  am  not  going  to  introduce  the  reader  to  a  scene 
of  pecuniary  charity,  as  he  may  perhaps  have  supposed 
You  must  bring  something  more  valuable  than  money  here, 
if  you  wish  to  do  good.  You  have  something  more  valuable 
than  money — Christian  sympathy;  this  I  will  suppose  you 
to  bring. 

On  one  side  of  the  fire  is  a  cradle  which  the  mother  has 
been  rocking.  You  take  your  seat  in  a  low  chair  by  the 
side  of  it,  and  leaning  over  it,  you  look  upon  the  pale  face 
of  a  little  sufferer  who  has  been  for  many  months  languish- 
ing there.  His  disease  has  curved  his  back,  and  brought 
his  head  over  towards  his  breast,  and  contracted  his  lungs, 
and  he  lies  there  in  bonds  which  death  only  can  sunder. 
Something  like  a  smile  lights  up  his  features  to  see  that 
his  friend  has  come  again  to  see  him  even  through  the 
storm.  That  smile  and  its  meaning  will  repay  you  for  all 
the  cold  blasts  which  you  encountered  on  your  way  to  the 
sick  room.  After  a  few  minutes  conversation  with  the  boy, 
YOU  ask  if  he  would  like  to  have  you  walk  with  him  a  little. 


Ch.  ^.]  MOTIVES 


Enjoyment  of  another  kind.  The  return. 

He  reaches  up  his  arms  to  you,  evidently  pleased  with  the 
proposal,  and  you  lift  him  from  his  pillow; — and  you  enjoy, 
yourself,  more,  even  than  he  does,  the  relief  he  experiences 
in  extending  his  limbs,  cramped  by  the  narrow  dimensions 
of  his  cradle. 

You  raise  him  in  your  arms.  He  is  not  heavy.  Disease 
has  diminished  his  weight,  and  you  walk  to  and  fro  across 
the  room  with  a  gentle  step, — his  head  reclining  upon  your 
shoulder.  The  uneasy,  restless  expression  which  was  upon 
his  countenance  is  gradually  changed  for  one  of  peaceful 
repose;  until,  at  length,  lulled  by  the  gentle  sound  of  your 
voice,  he  drops  into  a  quiet  slumber.  You  may  walk  with 
him  many,  many  times  across  the  floor,  before  fatigue  will 
counterbalance  the  pleasure  you  will  receive,  in  watch- 
ing his  placid  and  happy  look  reflected  in  the  glass  behind 
you,  when  you  turn. 

At  last  he  wakes,  and  you  gently  lay  him  down  into 
his  cradle  again.  You  read  him  a  hymn  expressive  of 
resignation  to  God,  and  confidence  in  his  kind  protection. 
Kneeling  down  by  his  cradle  and  holding  his  hand  in  yours, 
you  offer  a  simple  prayer  in  his  behalf,  and  when  at  length 
you  rise  to  go  away,  you  see  in  his  countenance  and  feel  in 
the  spontaneous  pressure  of  his  little  hand,  that  though  he 
says  nothing,  for  he  has  not  yet  learned  the  cold  forms  of 
civility, — his  heart  is  full  of  happiness  and  gratitude.  In 
witnessing  it,  and  in  recalling  the  scene  to  your  mind  in 
your  cold  and  stormy  walk  home,  you  will  experience  an 
enjoyment  which  I  cannot  describe,  but  which  all  who  have 
experienced  it  will  understand.  This  enjoyment  is,  how- 
ever, very  different  in  its  nature  from  the  solitary  happiness 
you  would  have  felt  at  your  own  fireside.  Which  kind, 
now,  do  you  prefer? 

The  case  I  have  described  is,  it  is  true,  an  experiment 
on  a  very  small  scale.  The  good  done,  was  very  little, — it 
was  only  half  an  hour's  partial  relief  for  a  sick  child,  and 
another  half  hour's  happiness  for  him^  afterwards^  as  he  lies 
5* 


54  THE    WAY   TO    150    GOOD.  [CIl.  5. 

Happiness  secured  though  not  directly  sought. 

in  silence  and  solitude  in  his  cradle,  musing  on  the  kindness 
of  his  visitor.  This  is  indeed  doing  good  on  a  small  scale, 
but  then  on  the  other  hand  it  is  making  but  a  small  effort. 
It  shows  the  better,  perhaps,  on  account  of  its  being  so 
simple  a  case,  the  point  to  be  illustrated,  viz.  that  you  may 
take  two  totally  different  modes  to  make  a  winter  evening 
pass  pleasantly;  and  it  is  not  merely  a  difference  of  means 
when  the  end  is  the  same,  but  a  difference  in  the  very  end 
and  object  itself. 

"But  is  not  the  end  sought  in  both  cases  our  own  hap- 
piness.?" you  ask. 

*'  No,  it  is  not.  And  this  leads  me  to  a  distinction, — a 
metaphysical  distinction,  which  every  one  who  wishes  to> 
do  good  on  the  right  principles  ought  to  understand.  The 
distinction  is  contained  summarily  in  the  following  proposi- 
tions, and  I  wish  my  young  reader  would  pause  and  reflect 
upon  them,  untiltheir  meaning  is  distinctly  understood,  and 
then  he  will  be  prepared  to  enter  into  the  spirit  of  the  re- 
marks which  follow.  The  propositions  are  elementary, — 
the  very  foundations  of  the  science  of  doing  good. 

1.  One  may  do  good  for  the  sake  of^  the  credit  or  the 
advantage  of  it ;  in  which  case  it  is  a  matter  of  policy. 

2.  He  may  do  good  for  the  sake  of  the  pleasure  of  it. 
Hiere  it  is  a  matter  of  feeling. 

3.  He  may  do  good  simply  for  the  sake  of  obeying  God, 
and  from  the  desire  to  have  the  good  done.  In  this  case  it 
is  a  matter  of  principle. 

1 .  A  man  may  do  good  for  the  sake  of  the  credit  of  it ; 
and  this  is  the  secret  of  a  far  greater  proportion  of  the  ap- 
parently benevolent  effort  which  is  made  in  the  world,  than 
is  generally  supposed.  I  do  not  by  any. means  say  that  it 
is  wrong  for  a  man  to  desire  the  good  opinion  of  others, 
and  especially  to  wish  to  be  known  as  a  man  of  kind  feel- 
ing for  the  wants  and  sufferings  of  others,  his  fellow  men. 
This  is  probably  right.  The  degree,  the  extent,  to  which  this 
operates  upon  us  as  a  stimulus  to  effort,  is  the  main  point 


Ch.  2.]  MOTIVES.  63 

t_ ....r..       .„- __^.i »_  _ 

VarioOa  motives :   perhaps  Hot  wholly  wrong. 

There  are  various  ways  in  which  this  principle  may 
operate.  You  may  go  and  visit  the  sick,  and  carry  com- 
forts to  the  poor,  and  be  very  active  and  bustling  in  your 
efforts  to  gather  Sabbath-school  scholars,  or  to  distribute 
tracts,  or  collect  contributions  for  charitable  purposes, — 
and  ydu  pass  along  from  month  to  month,  imagining  that 
your  motives  and  feelings  are  all  right.  And  yet  if  you 
were  at  any  time  to  pause  and  reflect,  and  call  your  heart 
thoroughly  to  account,  you  would  find  that  your  real  stimu- 
lus is  the  wish  to  be  esteemed  by  all  your  Christian  acquain- 
tances, as  an  ardent  and  a  devoted  Christian,  or  an  active, 
efficient,  successful  member  or.  manager  of  a  charitable 
society.  Or  you  may  contribute  money, — alas!  how  much 
is  so  contributed,  —  because  you  know  it  will  be  expected 
of  you.  The  box  or  the  paper  comes  round,  and  you  can- 
not easily  escape  it.  You  do  the  good,  not  for  the  sake  of 
having  the  good  done,  but  to  save  your  own  credit.  Or,  to 
take  another  case  still,  on  a  larger  scale,  and  more  gross 
in  its  nature, — you  may,  if  a  man  of  business  and  wealth, 
take  a  large  share  in  some  costly,  benevolent  enterprise, 
with  the  design  of  enlarging  your  influence  or  extending 
your  business  by  the  effect  which  your  share  in  the  trans- 
action will  produce  upon  the  minds  of  others.  It  is  true 
that  this  feeling  would  not  be  unmixed.  You  would  look, 
and  try  to  look,  as  much  as  possible  at  the  benevolent  ob- 
ject to  be  accomplished, — and  a  heart  deceitful  above  all 
things,  and  desperately  wicked,  will  attempt  to  persuade 
you  that  this  is  your  sole,  or  at  least  your  principal  desire. 
But,  if  in  such  a  case,  you  were  suddenly  laid  upon  a  dying 
bed,  and  could  look  upon  the  transaction  in  the  bright 
spiritual  light  which  the  vicinity  of  another  world  throws 
upon  all  human  actions  and  pursuits,  you  would  see  that 
in  all  these  cases,  you  are  doing  good,  not  for  the  sake 
of  pleasing  God  by  doing  his  work, — but  to  promote,  in 
various  ways,  your  own  private  ends. 

Let  it  be  understood  that  we  do  not  say  that  this  would 


66  THE  WAY  TO   DO   GOOD.  [Ch.  2. 

* — i_^i . _J» - 

Sentimental  feeling.  Illustration. 

be  wrong — nor  do  we  say  it  would  be  right.  We  saj  nothing 
about  it.  How  far,  and  into  what  fields  a  just  and  proper 
policy,  will  lead  a  man,  in  the  transaction  of  his  worldly 
affairs,  it  is  not  now  our  business  to  inquire.  The  subject 
we  are  considering  is  not  policy,  but  benevolence; — and 
the  only  point  which  we  wish  here  to  carry,  is  inducing  the 
young  Christian,  in  commencing  his  course  of  religious 
action,  to  discriminate, -^to  understand  distinctly  what  is 
benevolence  and  what  is  not  ;— to  have  his  mental  and 
moral  powers  so  disciplined,  that  when  he  really  is  doing 
good  for  the  sake  of  the  credit  of  it,  he  may  distinctly 
know  it. 

^  2.  Doing  good  from  the  impulse  of  sentimental /ee/mg,  is 
regarded  among  men  as  of  a  higher  moral  rank,  than  doing 
good  from  policy.  Though  after  all,  it  might  perhaps  be  a 
little  difficult  to  assign  a  substantial  reason  for  the  distinc- 
tion. One  of  the  lowest  examples  of  doing  good  from  mere 
feeling,  is  where  we  make  effort  to  relieve  pain,  because 
we  cannot  bear  to  see  it.  A  wretched  looking  child,  with 
bare  feet  and  half  naked  bosom,  comes  to  our  door  in  a 
cold  inclement  season  of  the  year.  He  comes,  it  may  be, 
to  beg  for  food  or  clothing.  We  should  perhaps  never 
have  thought  of  making  any  search  in  our  neighborhood 
for  objects  of  suffering,  but  when  such  an  object  obtrudes 
itself  upon  us,  we  cannot  bear  to  send  him  away  with  a 
denial.  We  give  him  food  or  clothing,  or  perhaps  money; 
but  our  chief  inducement  for  doing  it  is  to  relieve  a  feeling 
of  uneasiness  in  our  own  minds.  We  do  not  say  that  this 
is  wrong.  All  we  say  is,  that  it  is  not  acting  from  principle. 
It  may  be  considered  a  moral  excellence  that  the  mind  is 
so  constituted  in  respect  to  its  powers  and  sympathy  with 
others,  that  it  cannot  be  happy  itself  while  an  object  of 
misery  is  near,  and  the  happiness  of  knowing  that  all 
around  us  are  happy,  m.iy  be  a  kind  of  enjoyment  which 
it  is  very  proper  for  us  to  seek.  But  still  this  is  doing  good 
from  feeling,  not  from  principle* 


Ch.  2.]  MOTIVES.  67 

Another  case.  Principle.  Nature  of  it. 

Feeling  will  often  prompt  a  benevolent  man  to  make 
efforts  to  promote  positive  enjoyment,  as  well  as  to  relieve 
mere  suffering  which  forces  itself  upon  the  notice.  You 
•'  get  interested,"  as  the  phrase  is,  in  some  unhappy  widow, 
perhaps,  and  her  children,  —  a  case  of  destitution  and  suffer- 
ing, with  which  you  have  become  casually  acquainted. 
The  circumstances  of  her  case  are  such,  perhaps,  as  at  first 
to  make  a  strong  appeal  to  your  feelings,  and  after  begin- 
ning to  act  in  her  behalf,  you  are  led  on  from  step  to  step 
by  the  pleasure  of  doing  good,  till  you  have  found  her 
regular  employment,  and  relieved  all  her  wants,  and  pro- 
vided for  the  comfort  and  proper  education  of  her  children. 
All  this  may  be  right,  but  it  may  be  simply  feeling,  which 
has  prompted  it.  There  may  have  been  no  steady  prin- 
ciple of  benevolence  through  the  whole. 

3.  Doings  ,^gpd  from  £rinci^le.  There  is  a  far  wider 
difference  between  the  benevolence  of  principle,  and  the 
benevolence  of  feeling,  than  young  Christians  who  have 
not  fully^  considered  the  subject  ace  awa]r<g,^of  Principle 
looks  first  to  God.  She  sees  him  engaged  in  the  work  of 
promoting  universal  holiness  and  happiness.  Not  universal 
holiness,  merely  as  a  means  of  happiness,  but  holiness  and 
happiness; — for  moral  excellence  is  in  itself  a  good,  inde- 
pendently of  any  enjoyment  which  may  result  from  it.  So 
that  Principle  has  two  distinct  and  independent,  though 
closely  connected  objects,  while  Feeling  has  but  one. 
Principle  decides  deliberately  to  take  hold  as  a  cooperator 
^iviili  God,  in  promoting  the  prosperity  of  his  kingdom; — 
which  kingdom  is  the  prevalence  of  perfect  holiness  and 
universal  enjoyment.  She  does  not  then  rush  heedlessly 
into  the  field  and  seize  hold  of  the  first  little  object  which 
comes  in  her  way.  She  acts  upon  a  plan.  She  surveys 
the  field.  She  considers  what  means  and  resources  she 
now  has,  and  what  she  may,  by  proper  effort,  bring  within 
her  reach ;  and  then  aims  at  acting  in  such  a  manner  as 
shall  in  the  end  promote,  in  the  highest  and  best  way,  the 


58  THE    WAY    TO    DO    GOOD.  [Ch.   2. 

Policy.  An  Allegory.  A  scene  in  the  evening 

designs  of  God.  She  feels  too,  that  in  these  labors  she  is 
not  alone.  She  is  not  a  principal.  She  is  endeavoring  to 
execute  the  plans  of  a  superior,  and  she  endeavors  to  act, 
not  as  her  own  impulses  might  prompt,  but  as  the  nature 
and  character  of  his  great  designs  require. 

Doing  good  from  motives  of  policy,  the  first  of  the  in- 
ducements we  have  considered,  is  not  likely  to  find  much 
favor  with  human  hearts,  if  it  can  be  simply  deprived  of  its 
disguise.  But  the  distinction  between  feeling  and  principle 
demands  more  careful  attention.  The  two  may  sometimes 
cooperate.  In  fact,  they  do  very  well  together,  but  Feeling 
cannot  be  trusted  alone  with  the  Avork  of  benevolence.  She 
will  aid,  she  will  inspirit  Principle,  and  enable  her  to  do  her 
work  better  and  more  pleasantly,  but  she  cannot  be  trusted 
alone. 

We  can,  perhaps,  more  clearly  show  the  distinction  be- 
tween the  benevolence  of  Principle  and  of  Feeling,  by  an 
allegorical  illustration.  Let  us  suppose  then,  that  one  eve- 
ning. Feeling  and  Principle  were  walking  in  a  road,  upon 
the  outskirts  of  a  country  town.  They  had  been  to  attend 
an  evening  service  in  a  school-house,  half  a  mile  from  their 
homes.  It  wsls  a  cold  winter  evening,  and  as  they  passed 
by  the  door  of  a  small  cabin  with  boarded  windows  and 
broken  roof,  they  saw  a  child  sitting  at  the  door,  weeping 
and  sobbing  bitterly. 

Feeling  looked  anxious  and  concerned. 

*'  What  is  the  matter,  my  little  fellow?"  said  Principle, 
with  a  pleasant  countenance. 

The  boy  sobbed  on. 

"What  a  house,"  said  Feeling,  "  for  human  beings  to 
live  in.  But  I  do  not  think  any  thing  serious  is  the  matter. 
Let  us  ^o  on." 

"What  is  the  matter,  my  boy.^"  said  Principle  again, 
kindly.      "  Can  you  not  tell  us  what  is  the  matter?" 

"My  father  is  sick,"  said  the  boy,  and  I  don't  know 
what  is  the  matter  with  him." 


Ch.  2.]  MOTIVES.  59 

Conversation.  A  wretched  fireside. 

"Hark,"  said  Feeling. 

They  listened  and  heard  the  sounds  of  moaning  and 
muttering  within  the  house. 

"Let  us  go  on,"  said  Feeling,  pulling  upon  Principle's 
arm,  "  and  we  will  send  somebody  to  see  what  is  the 
matter." 

"We  had  better  go  and  see  ourselves,"  said  Principle 
to  her  companion. 

Feeling  shrunk  back  from  the  proposal,  and  Principle 
herself,  with  female  timidity,  paused  a  moment,  from  an 
undefined  sense  of  danger. 

"There  can  be  no  real  danger,"  thought  she.     "Be 
sides,  if  there  is,  my  Savior  exposed  himself  to  danger  in 
doing  good.    Why  should  not  I.''    Savior,"  she  whispered, 
"aid  and  guide  me." 

"Where  is  your  mother,  my  boy,"  said  she. 

"She  is  in  there,"  said  the  boy,  "trying  to  take  care 
of  him." 

"Oh,  come,"  said  Feeling,  "let  us  go.  Here,  my  boy, 
here  is  some  money  for  you  to  carry  to  your  mother.  Say- 
ing this,  she  tossed  down  some  change  by  his  side.  The 
boy  was  wiping  his  eyes,  and  did  not  notice  it.  He  looked 
up  anxiously  into  Principle's  face  and  said, 

"  I  wish  you  would  go  and  see  my  mother." 

Principle  advanced  towards  the  door,  and  Feeling,  afraid 
to  stay  out,  or  to  go  home  alone,  followed. 

They  walked  in.  Lying  upon  a  bed  of  straw,  and  cover- 
ed with  miserable  and  tattered  blankets,  was  a  sick  man, 
moaning  and  muttering  and  snatching  at  the  bed  clothes 
with  his  fingers.     He  was  evidently  not  sane. 

His  wife  was  sitting  on  the  end  of  a  bench,  by  the  chim- 
ney corner,  with  her  elbows  on  her  knees,  and  her  face 
upon  her  hands.  As  her  visiters  entered,  she  looked  up  to 
them,  the  very  picture  of  wretchedness  and  despair.  Prin- 
ciple was  glad,  but  Feeling  was  sorry  they  had  come. 

FeelinjT  began  to  talk  to  some  small  children,  who  were 


GO  THE    WAY    TO    DO    GOOD.  [Ch.  2. 

Efibct  of  sympathy.  F^eeling  and  principle  contrasted> 

shivering  over  the  embers  upon  the  hearth,  and  Principle 
accosted  the  mother.  They  both  learned  soon,  the  true 
state  of  the  case.  It  was  a  case  of  common  misery,  re- 
sulting from  the  common  cause.  Feeling  was  overwhelmed 
with  painful  emotion  at  witnessing  such  suffering.  Prin- 
ciple began  to  think  what  could  be  done  to  relieve  it,  and 
to  prevent  its  return. 

"Let  us  give  her  some  money  to  send  and  buy  some 
wood,  and  some  bread,"  whispered  Feeling,  "and  go  away; 
I  cannot  bear  to  stay." 

"  She  wants  kind  words  and  sympathy,  more  than  food 
and  fuel,  for  present  relief,"  said  Principle,  "let  us  sit 
with  her  a  little  while." 

The  poor  sufferer  was  cheered  and  encouraged  by  their 
presence.  A  little  hope  broke  in.  Her  strength  revived 
under  the  influence  of  a  cordial  more  powerful  than  any 
medicated  beverage;  and  when,  after  half  an  hour,  they 
went  away  promising  future  relief,  the  spirits  and  strength 
of  the  wretched  wife  and  mother  had  been  a  little  restored. 
She  had  smoothed  her  husband's  wretched  couch,  and 
quieted  her  crying  children,  and  shut  her  doors,  and  was 
preparing  to  enjoy  the  relief  when  it  should  come.  In  a 
word,  she  had  been  revived  from  the  stupor  of  despair.  As 
they  walked  away.  Feeling  said,  it  was  a  most  heart-rend- 
ing scene,  and  that  she  should  not  forget  it  as  long  as  she 
lived.  Principle  said  nothing,  but  guided  their  way  to  a 
house  where  they  found  one  whom  they  could  employ  to 
carry  food  and  fuel  to  the  cabin,  and  take  care  of  the  sick 
man,  while  the  wife  and  her  children  should  sleep.  They 
then  returned  home.  Feeling  retired  to  rest,  shuddering 
lest  the  terrible  scene  should  haunt  her  in  her  dreams,  and 
saying  that  she  would  not  witness  such  a  scene  again,  for 
all  the  world.  Principle  kneeled  down  at  her  bedside  with 
a  mind  at  peace.  She  commended  the  sufferers  to  God's 
care,  and  prayed  that  her  Savior  would  give  her  every  day 
some  such  work  to  do  for  him. 


Ch.    2.]  MOTIVES,  61 

Feeling  unsteady  ^  fickle ;  inconsiderate. 

; ] [ ---f 

Such,  in  a  very  simple  case,  is  the  difference  between  ' 
Feeling  and  Principle.  The  one  obeys  God.  The  other 
obeys  her  own  impulses,  and  relieves  misery  because  she 
cannot  bear  to  see  it.  As  a  consequence  of  this  difference 
in  the  very  nature  of  their  benevolence,  many  results  fol- 
low in  respect  to  the  character  of  their  efforts. 

1.  Feeling  is  unsteady.  Acting  from  impulse  merely, 
it  is  plain  that  she  will  not  act  excepting  when  circum- 
stances occur  to  awaken  the  impulse.  She  therefore  can- 
not be  depended  upon.  Her  stimulus  is  from  without.  It 
arises  from  external  objects  acting  upon  her,  and  conse- 
quently her  benevolence  rises  and  falls  as  external  circum- 
stances vary.  The  stimulus  of  Principle  is  from  within. 
It  is  a  heart  reconciled  to  God,  and  consequently  united  to 
him,  and  desiring  to  carry  forward  his  plans.  Consequent- 
ly when  there  is  no  work  actually  before  her,  she  goes 
forth  of  her  own  accord  and  seeks  work.  She  is  conse- 
quently steady. 

2.  Feeling  will  not  persevere.  When  she  sees  suffering, 
she  feels  uneasy,  and  to  remove  this  uneasiness,  she  makes 
benevolent  effort.  But  there  are  two  ways  o^  removing  it. 
She  will  cease  to  feel  uneasiness  not  only  when  the  suffer- 
ing is  relieved,  but  also  when  she  becomes  accustomed  to 
witnessing  it.  She  feeds  a  starving  child,  not  because  she 
wishes  the  child  to  be  happy,  but  because  she  cannot  bear 
to  see  him  wretched.  Now,  as  soon  as  she  becomes  ac- 
customed to  seeing  wretchedness,  she  can  bear  it  easily 
enough;  and  therefore  she  cannot  go  on  with  any  long 
course  of  benevolent  effort.  For  before  long  she  becomes 
accustomed  to  the  suffering, — it  ceases  to  affect  her, — and 
her  whole  impulse,  which  is  her  whole  motive,  is  gone. 

3.  Feeling  is  inconsiderate.  What  she  wishes  is  not 
to  do  good,  but  to  relieve  her  own  wounded  sensibilities. 
She  will  give  a  wretched  object  money  at  the  door,  though 
she  might  know  that  he  uses  money  principally  as  the 
mtans  of  procuring  that  which  is  the  chief  cause  of  his 

6 


62  THE    WAY    TO    UO    GOOD.  [Ch.   2. 

Deficiencies  of  mere  feeling.  Principle. 

wretchedness.  That  is,  however,  of  no  consequence  to  her, 
for  the  new  misery  she  makes  will  be  out  of  her  sight,  and 
her  purpose  is  answered  equally  well,  whether  the  misery 
is  relieved,  or  only  removed  from  view.  Therefore,  she  is 
inconsiderate, — acting  with  good  intentions, — but  often  in- 
creasing the  evil  she  intended  to  remedy. 

4.  Feeling  aims  only  at  relieving  palpable  wretchedness. 
She  might,  indeed,  if  she  was  wise,  aim  at  promoting  gene- 
ral happiness  on  an  enlarged  plan;  for  her  own  enjoyment 
would  be  most  highly  promoted  by  this.  But  she  is  not 
generally  very  wise;  and  while  Principle  forms  plans,  and 
makes  systematic  efforts  to  promote  the  general  enjoyment, 
Feeling  continues  in  a  state  of  moral  inaction  in  respect  to 
the  work  of  doing  good,  unless  there  is  some  specific  and 
palpable  suffering  to  be  relieved. 

5.  And  once  more.  Feeling  does  not  aim  at  promoting 
holiness  or  diminishing  sin,  on  their  own  account.  Princi- 
ple considers  sin  an  evil,  and  holiness  or  moral  excellence, 
a  good,  in  themselves,  on  their  own  account,  and  indepen- 
dently of  their  connection  with  enjoyment  and  suffering. 
She  would  r^^ther  have  all  men  grateful,  and  obedient  to 
God,  and  united  to  one  another,  even  if  they  were  to  gain 
nothing  by  it  in  respect  to  happiness.  Feeling  does  not 
take  this  view  of  the  subject.  Nothing  affects  her  but  the 
sight  or  the  tale  of  wo.  ,  If  you  can  show  her  that  sin  is 
the  cause  of  some  suffering  which  she  is  endeavoring  to 
relieve,  she  will  perhaps  take  an  interest  in  endeavoring  to 
remove  it,  as  a  means  to  the  accomplishment  of  an  end; 
but  in  respect  to  the  universal  reign  of  love  to  God  and  love 
to  man,  on  account  of  the  intrinsic  excellence  of  love,  she 
feels  no  interest.  She  does  not  perceive  this  moral  excel- 
lence.    She  may  be  herself  entirely  destitute  of  this  love. 

In  all  these  respects,  and  in  many  more,  analogous  to 
them.  Principle  is  very  different  from  Feeling. 

I.  She  is  steady  and  persevering.  She  has  in  mind,  one 
great  object,  the  universal  establishment  of  the  kingdom 


Ch.  2.]  MOTIVES.  63 

Principle  persevering ;  systematic ;  a  cooperator  with  God. 

of  God.  This  is  what  she  lives  for,  and  she  is  steadily 
p-fessing  on  in  the  accomplishment  of  her  work.  When 
she  attempts  to  do  good  in  any  particular  case,  it  is  not  to 
relieve  herself  from  pained  sensibilities,  but  to  promote  the 
great  cause;  and  when,  accordingly,  the  acuteness  of  her 
feelings  have  been  blunted  by  time  and  use,  she  goes  on 
more  vigorously  and  with  more  energy, — not  less.  Her 
impulse  is  from  within.  It  is  a  deliberate,  a  fixed  and  a 
settled  desire  to  please  God,  to  cooperate  in  his  plans,  and 
to  promote  human  happiness.  This  is  a  steady  principle 
which  leads  her  to  seek  work, — not  merely  to  do  what  is 
obtruded  upon  her. 

2.  Principle  acts  upon  a  plan.  She  makes  it  a  part  of 
her  business  to  look  all  around  her,  and  see  in  what  w^ays 
and  how  extensively  she  can  have  any  influence  on  the 
character  and  happiness  of  human  beings.  .  Then  she  con- 
siders what  objects  ought  to  be  aimed  at,  and  what  is  their 
comparative  value,  and  how  long  life  may  be  expected  to 
endure.  With  all  these  elements  in  view,  she  forms  wise 
and  systematic  plans,  extending  as  far  as  her  influence  can 
be  made  to  extend.  In  a  word,  she  feels  that  she  has  a 
great  work  to  do,  and  she  endeavors  to  make*arrangements 
for  doing  it  systematically  and  thoroughly. 

3.  Principle  aims,  too,  as  I  have  l?efore  intimated,  at 
promoting  goodness  as  well  as  happiness.  She  looks  upon 
men  as  moral  beings,  not  mqrely  sentient  beings,  and  aims 
at  promoting  their  moral  excellence  as  well  as  their  enjoy- 
ment. In  fact,  the  former  attracts  far  the  greater  portion 
of  her  regard,  for  it  is  not  only  a  good  in  itself,  but  it  is  the 
only  sure  foundation  of  happiness. 

4.  And  once  more,  Principle  engages  in  her  work  as  a 
child  of  God,  and  a  cooperator*  with  him.  She  feels  at  all 
times,  therefore,  a  sense  of  filial  dependence.  She  puts 
forth  her  hand  to  be  led,  and  goes  wherever  her  Master 
calls.  She  reports  regularly  to  him,  too,  acting  solely  as 
his  obedient  and  dutiful  child. 


64  THE    WAY   TO   DO    GOOD.  [Ch.  2, 

Analj'sia  of  our  benevolent  acts. 

The  reader  will  thus,  I  hope,  clearly  understand  the  dis- 
tinction between  policy,  feeling,  and  principle,  as  stimulus 
to  effort  in  doing  good.     The  inquiry  will  naturally  arise, 
— -at  least  it  ought   to  arise  with    each  one,  what  is   the 
character  of  his  own  benevolent  effort.     We  shall  all  find 
that  these  motives  are  mixed  in  our  hearts,  and  by  a  care- 
ful self-examination,  we  shall  probably  perceive  that  policy 
has  more  influence  than  either  of  the  others.     I   do   not 
mean  by  policy,  a  deliberate  intention  to  pretend  to  be  be- 
nevolent for  the  purpose  .of  accomplishing  a  sinister  design; 
I  mean,  doing  good,  with   some  real   interest  in   it,  but 
where  the  paramount  inducement,  after  all,  is  the  light  in 
which  the  affair  will  be  viewed  by  others.     This  may  not 
be  always  wrong,  as  we  have  before  remarked.     A  man 
ought  not  to  be  indifferent  entirely  to  his  own  reputation 
The   favorable   regard  of  the  wise  and  good,   every  one 
should  desire,  and  it  is  right  to  take  pleasure  in  the  sense  of 
its  possession ;   but  there  are  probably  very  few  who  would 
not  be  surprised,  if  they  were  to  see  their   good   deeds 
honestly  analyzed,  to  find  how  large  a  portion  of  the  in- 
ducement in  n^rly  all  of  them,  was  to  be  seen  of  men.    To 
discriminafe  between  the  benevolence  of  feeling  and  that 
of  principle,  requires  still  greater  care.     The  distinction  is 
not  exactly  one  between  right  and  wrong,   for  to  be  influ- 
enced by  feeling,  in  our  efforts,  is  certainly  not  wrong. 
We  ought  to  feel  deep  compassion  for  the  sufferings  of 
others,  and  a  great  personal  pleasure  in  the  work  of  aHevia- 
ting  them.     But  principle  ought  to  be  the  great  basis  of  all 
our   efforts  at   doing  good.     It  is  the  only  stable  basis, — 
and  it  is  the  only  one  which  in  any  degree  enables  us  to 
fulfil  our  obligations  as  the  creatures  of  God.     Domg  good 
on   principle,   is  the    only  kind  of  benevolence  which   is 
pleasing  to  him. 

JEf  we  wish  to  know  which  of  these  motives  control  us, 
we  must  pause  when  we  are  about  to  make  some  effort  to 
do  good,  and  allow  our  thoughts  to  go  freely  forward,  and 


^      Ch.  2.]  MOTIVES.  65 

The  way  to  test  the  real  motives. 

see  what  is  the  object  on  which  they  will  rest,  as  the  end 
to  be  secured.  When,  for  example,  you  are  making  efforts 
to  prepare  yourself  well,  for  duties  as  teacher  of  a  class  in 
the  Sunday  school,  what  is  it,  that  your  heart  rests  upon  as 
the  object  you  are  pursuing  in  it?  Your  imagination  goes 
forward,  beyond  your  present  preparation;  now  follow  her; 
see  where  she  goes;  what  picture  does  she  form?  Does 
she  exhibit  to  your  eye,  the  beautiful  appearance  of  a  full 
and  an  attentive  class,  to  be  noticed  by  the  other  teachers, 
or  the  superintendent,  or  by  some  individual  friend,  whose 
good  opinion  you  particularly  desire  ?  Does  she  whisper  to 
you  the  praises  of  your  fidelity,  and  your  success,  or  does 
she  warn  you  of  the  reproof,  or  the  censure,  secret  or  open, 
which  you  must  expect  if  you  are  unfaithful?  Or  does  she 
on  the  other  hand,  lead  you  to  the  hearts  of  the  children, 
and  show  you  renewed,  sanctified  affections  there  ?  Does 
she  picture  to  you  their  future  lives,  purified  from  sin,  and 
lead  you  to  anticipate  through  them,  the  extension  of  the 
Redeemer's  kingdom? 

So  when  a  friend  calls  upon  you,  tO  ask  your  subscription 
to  a  charity, — to  relieve  distress,  for  example, — and  you  sit 
listening  to  the  story,  and  determine  to  add  your  name  to 
the  list, — what  is  it  that  your  imagination  reposes  upon  at 
the  instant  of  decision?  The  satisfaction  of  the  applicant 
at  finding  you  ready  to  aid,  or  the  sight  of  your  name  by 
those  to  whom  the  paper  is  to  be  borne,  or  relief  from  the 
pain  awakened  by  the  sad  details  of  the  story  ?  Or,  is  it 
the  pleasure  of  obeying  God,  and  aiding  in  doing  his  work  ? 
What  is  it  in  such  cases,  that  your  mind  rests  upon  at  the 
moment  of  decision?  Recall  a  few  such  cases  to  mind,  and 
give  the  reins  to  your  heart,  and  see  where  it  will  go.  If 
you  take  off  all  restraint,  and  let  it  move  freely,  it  will  run 
to  its  own  end,  and  there  repose  itself  upon  the  object  it  is 
really  seeking. 

So  far  as  principle  may  control  you  in  your  efforts  to  do 
good,  it  will  tend  to  identify  you  in  heart  and  feeling,  and  in 
6* 


66  THE    WAY   TO    DO    dOOD.  [Ch.  2. 


Character  of  the  benevolence  of  God. 


plans,  with  God,  and  lead  you  to  act  in  imitation  of  his 
example,  and  as  a  laborer  by  his  side.  Let  us  look  then, 
at  the  benevolence  of  the  Deity,  for  this  is  the  benevolence 
which  you  are  to  cherish.  This  you  are  to  imitate, — to 
cooperate  with.  You  cannot,  therefore,  study  it  too  closely. 
Let  us  devote,  then,  the  remaining  paragraphs  of  the  chap- 
ter, to  a  particular  consideration  of  the  character  which  the 
benevolence  of  the  Deity  assumes. 

1.  It  would  seem  to  be  the  great  plan  and  the  great  em- 
ployment of  the  Deity,  to  fill  the  universe  with  sentient 
existence,  and  to  provide  the  whole  mighty  mass,  with  the 
means  of  happiness  in  the  greatest  possible  variety.  There 
is,  it  is  true,  a  vast  amount  of  suffering  visible  around  us, 
but  far  the  greater  portion  of  it,  we  can  ourselves  directly 
trace  to  sin,  and  the  bible  tells  us,  that  it  all  comes  directly 
or  indirectly  from  this  one  poisoned  fountain.  The  arrange 
ments  which  God  has  made,  tend  all  to  happiness.  It  is 
only  our  perversions  of  them,  and  our  violations  of  his  laws, 
that  tend  to  misery. 

Take  your  stand  upon  the  sea-shore,  on  a  summer  morn- 
ing, and  observe  the  expression  of  the  face  of  nature.  It 
is,  as  it  were,  the  expression  of  the  countenance  of  God. 
Observe  the  serene  sky, — the  mild  balmy  air, — the  smooth 
expanse  of  water  before  you,  reflecting  as  in  a  polished 
mirror,  every  rocky  crag,  and  smooth  island,  and  sandy 
shore,  and  even  every  spar  and  rope  of  the  vessel  which 
seems  to  sleep  upon  its  bosom.  Enveloping  you  all  around, 
is  the  thin  elastic  atmosphere, — balanced  in  a  most  delicate 
equilibrium, — so  delicate,  that  that  workman's  axe  which 
you  see  regularly  descending  upon  the  wood  on  that  distant 
point  of  land,  sends  a  tremulous  vibration  through  the 
transparent  fluid,  for  a  mile  all  around.  Yes,  every  ripple 
upon  the  shore,  every  song  of  the  locust,  even  the  hum  of 
the  distant  town  sends  its  own  peculiar  quivering  through 
the  whole,  and  each  brings  distinctly  and  undisturbed  to 


Ch.  2.J  MOTIVES.  67 

Plans  to  promote  happiness.  Simple  sources  of  pleasure. 

your  ear,  its  own  correct  report.  At  your  feet,  the  clear 
waters  bathe  the  rocks  and  pebbles  of  the  shore,  and  aqua- 
tic animals  creep  over  them,  or  swim  in  the  depths  below, 
enjoying  sensations  of  pleasure  which  God  has  carefully 
provided  for  every  one.  He  who  has  a  soul  capable  of 
understanding  it,  will  sit  for  hours  upon  the  green  bank,  at 
a  time  like  this,  receiving  an  indescribable  pleasure  from 
the  general  expression  of  such  a  scene.  It  is  an  expression 
of  divine  benevolence,  beaming  from  the  works  of  God, 
which  it  is  strange  that  human  beings  can  ever  fail  to 
understand  and  love. 

How  many  thousand  ingenious  contrivances,  has  God 
planned  and  executed  to  make  men  happy.  The  catalogue 
is  endless,  of  simple  pleasures,  each  distinct  from  all  the 
rest,  which  the  human  being  has  the  opportunity  to  enjoy. 
In  fact,  if  man  acts  on  proper  principles,  and  according  to 
the  intentions  of  the  Creator,  every  thing  is  a  source  of 
happiness  to  him.  Employment  is  pleasant,  and  rest  is 
pleasant.  It  is  pleasant  to  begin  a  new  work;  it  is  plea- 
sant to  finish  one,  begun.  Morning  is  delightful, — with  its 
freshness,  its  animation,  its  calls  and  its  opportunities  for 
exertion.  Evening  is  delightful  too,  with  its  quiet,  its  still- 
ness, its  repose.  The  summer's  sun  gladdens  the  heart, — 
and  so  does  the  refreshing  rain,  when  we  see  the  dry  ground 
drinking  it  in,  as  if  it  enjoyed  the  extinguishment  of  its 
thirst ; — and  so  does  the  wintry  storm,  when  it  howls  through 
the  trees,  and  fills  up  every  road  and  path,  and  obscures 
the  window,  and  spreads  over  fields,  and  plains,  its  mantle 
of  snow.  Each  comes  with  its  own  peculiar  voice  to  the 
heart,  and  fills  it  with  peaceful  happiness. 

All  these  contrivances  are  plain  and  obvious,  and  yet 
they  are  no  less  contrivances,  artfully  planned,  to  increase 
human  enjoyment.  There  must  have  been  a  peculiar  and 
skilful  workmanship,  in  constructing  the  moral  mechanism 
of  the  human  heart,  to  secure  so  many  different  kinds  of 
happiness,  by  means  of  external  objects,  so  numerous,  and 


68  THE   WAY   TO   DO   GOOD.  [Ch.  2. 

The  snow.  Running  water.  Emotions  awakened  by  them. 

SO  diversified.  You  can  give  no  reason  why  the  heart  of  a 
child  is  filled  with  such  joyous  glee,  when  the  first  snow- 
flakes  descend.  There  is  no  very  special  beauty  in  the 
sight, — and  there  is  no  very  well  defined  hopes  of  slides  or 
rides,  to  awaken  such  joy.  At  fifty,  the  gladness  is  not 
expressed  so  unequivocally,  but  yet  when  the  gravest  phil- 
osopher rides  through  a  wood  whose  boughs  are  loaded  with 
the  snow,  and  whose  tops  bend  over  with  the  burden ; — and 
looks  upon  the  footsteps  of  the  rabbit  who  has  leaped  along 
over  the  ground, — he  feels  the  same  pleasure,  though  he 
indicates  it,  by  riding  on  in  silent  musing,  instead  of  utter- 
ing exclamations  of  delight.  Can  you  explain  this  pleasure .' 
Is  there  any  describable  pleasure  in  a  great  expanse  of 
white ,''  Is  the  form  of  the  trees,  or  the  beauty  of  its  foliage 
improved  by  the  snowy  mantle.''  No.  The  explanation  is 
that  God,  who  formed  the  laws  of  nature,  formed  also  the 
human  heart,  and  has  so  adapted  the  one  to  the  other,  as 
to  promote  in  every  variety  of  mode,  the  enjoyment  of  the 
beings  he  has  made.  There  is  no  end  to  the  kinds  of  en 
joyment,  which  God  has  thus  opened  to  us  every  where 
They  are  too  numerous  to  be  named,  and  no  intellectual 
philosopher  has  ever  undertaken  the  hopeless  task  of  ar- 
ranging them.  Who, — to  name  one  other  example, — who, 
when  walking  on  the  banks  of  a  brook,  at  a  time  when  busi- 
ness or  cares  did  not  press  him  on,  has  not  stopped  to  gaze 
a  moment  upon  the  running  water,  as  it  rippled  over  the 
smooth  yellow  sands.  That  quivering  picture  on  the  retina 
of  the  eye  gives  delight,  and  the  passing  traveller  is  arrest- 
ed and  stands  still,  and  keeps  his  eye  fixed  upon  the  spot, 
that  the  retina  may  enjoy  it.  And  who  can  define,  or  ex- 
plain, or  classify,  or  name  the  pleasant  feeling.?  There  is 
but  one  explanation.  God,  delighting  in  contrivances  for 
promoting  enjoyment,  has  formed  the  brook,  the  retina,  and 
the  feeling  heart  affected  by  it,  in  such  a  way  that  enjoy- 
ment shall  be  developed,  when  they  come  into  combination. 
It  is  so,  as  I  have  said,  in  a  thousand  other  cases,  and  man, 


Ch.  2.]  MOTIVES.  69 

Various  sources  of  enjoyment. 

if  he  would  keep  his  heart  free  from  moral  pollutions  which 
destroy  peace,  and  disturb  and  poison  every  source  of  hap- 
piness, would  find  all  nature  continually  communicating  to 
him,  through  one  sense  and  another,  feelings  of  pure  and 
rational  happiness. 

Still  all  this  is  happiness  of  the  lowest  kind.  It  is  true, 
indeed,  that  these  feelings  may  be  so  mingled  and  com- 
bined with  the  higher  moral  feelings,  as  to  partake  in  some 
degree  of  their  nature;  still,  in  itself,  this  is  happiness  of 
the  lowest  kind:  but  yet  it  is  happiness  which  God  has 
made  distinct,  and  expensive  arrangements  for;  and  these 
arrangements,  therefore,  clearly  speak  his  love. 

The  number  and  variety  of  these  simple  pleasures,  which 
the  senses  may  be  the  means  of  affording,  is  immense,  and 
each  must  have  required  its  own  separate  mechanism,  to 
secure  it.  I  refer  to  the  mechanism  of  the  heart,  not  of 
the  organ  of  sense,  by  which  the  image  comes  in.  The 
feehng,  for  example,  which  is  awakened  by  the  sight  of 
running  water,  is  totally  different,  not  in  degree,  but  in 
kind,  from  that  which  we  experience  in  looking  upon  a 
tender,  full,  bursting  rose-bud  in  the  spring; — and  both  are 
diverse  from  the  emotion,  awakened  by  looking  out  at  mid- 
night upon  a  sombre  moon-light  scene,  among  the  solitudes 
of  the  mountains.  The  same  mechanism  of  the  eye  answers 
for  all,  but  the  heart  must  have  its  own  peculiar  and  appro- 
priate susceptibilities  for  each.  And  so  with  all  the  other 
thousand  susceptibilities  of  enjoyment,  which  the  human 
heart  possesses.  Each  is  the  result  of  a  special  arrange- 
ment, made  expressly  to  secure  it. 

And  yet  all  these,  numerous  as  they  are,  and  high  as 
they  would  be,  in  the  degree  of  enjoyment  they  would  pro- 
cure for  us,  were  it  not  for  the  corroding  anxieties  of  sin, 
belong  to  the  lowest  class  of  human  enjoyments.  So  much 
so,  that  in  most  religious  treatises  upon  the  benevolence  of 
God,  they  are  scarcely  named.  There  are  far  higher,  and 
nobler  plans,  which  God  has  formed  for  the  happiness  of 
his  creatures. 


70  THE   WAY   TO   DO    GOOD.  [Ch.   2. 

Higher  pleasures.  Employment.        The  merchant's  counting-room. 

2.  Among  these  higher  plans,  is  the  pleasure  which  God 
has  annexed  to  the  faithful  and  proper  performance  of  the 
duties  of  life.  Each  kind  of  employment,  seems  to  have 
its  own  peculiar  and  appropriate  pleasure.  One  man  is 
stationed  on  a  farm,  which  he  holds  as  a  little  empire,  with- 
in which  he  is  almost  supreme,  and  the  whole  arrangement 
of  the  circumstances  of  his  connection  with  it,  is  such  as  to 
afford  him  the  highest  happiness  in  administering  his  gov- 
ernment there.  Another  is  a  merchant.  You  look  into  his 
counting-room,  and  see  nothing  there,  but  a  high  desk 
and  a  three-legged  stool,  and  a  row  of  ponderous  ledgers. 
"What  a  place  for  a  human  being  to  spend  his  days  in!" 
you  exclaim.  What  a  place? — why,  in  that  cheerless  look- 
ing room,  there  are  found  all  the  materials  for  the  highest 
intellectual  and  moral  enjoyment.  In  planning  those  voy 
ages,  in  effecting  sales,  in  transferring  value  from  one  form 
to  another,  in  inspecting  his  periodical  balance  sheet,  and 
watching  his  losses  and  gains,  and  examining  the  causes 
which  affect  them, — in  all  these  things  the  occupant  finds 
continual  happiness,  and  returns  day  after  day  to  his  work, 
with  all  the  eager  interest,  which  a  child  feels  in  the  prog- 
ress of  a  game.  God  has  constructed  the  human  heart  so, 
that  the  work  of  transferring  and  exchanging  the  various 
products  of  the  earth,  from  the  places  where  they  grow,  to 
the  places  where  they  are  needed,  is  not  a  drudgery, — a 
hard,  unwelcome  toil,  —  but  an  exhilarating,  animating 
game,  which  they,  whose  duty  it  is  to  attend  to  it,  may 
pursue  with  pleasure.  Let  it  be  observed  that  I  say  it 
may  be  pursued  with  pleasure.  For  men  may,  as  they 
very  oflen  do,  make  it  a  work  of  toil  and  misery.  They 
may  be  so  greedy  of  gain,  as  to  be  always  on  the  point  of 
encroaching  upon  other  persons  rights,  and  thus  always  be 
in  contention; — or  they  may  go  so  far  beyond  the  bounds 
of  sound  judgment,  as  to  be  harassed  with  continual  anxiety 
and  care; — or  they  may  yield  to  fretfulness  and  vexation, 
upon  every  little  disappointment  or  difficulty.    In  these  and 


Ch.  2.]  MOTIVES.  7t 

The  pleasure  of  invention  and  construction.  Higher  enjoyments  still. 

in  other  ways,  they  may  make  the  work  which  God  intend- 
ed should  be  pleasant,  one  of  anxiety,  toil,  and  suffering. 
But  this  does  not  affect  the  nature  of  his  plan. 

A  third  individual  is  a  mechanic,  and  God  has  so  formed 
his  mental  powers,  that  the  work  of  invention  and  con- 
struction is  a  positive  and  a  lasting  pleasure  to  him.  He 
will  sit  in  his  solitary  room  till  the  morning  dawns,  planning 
the  details  of  a  machine, — held  to  his  work  by  an  appetite 
whicn  God  has  given  him  for  it; — and  if  he  is  industrious, 
and  systematic,  and  faithful,  he  will  find  day  after  day, 
continued  and  almost  unalloyed  happiness  in  managing  his 
establishment,  arranging  his  work,  and  in  seeing  one  useful 
object  after  another  accomplished,  by  the  exercise  of  his 
ingenuity  and  skill.  Thus  God  is  not  a  task-master,  driv- 
ing us  to  our  duties  by  the  force  of  suffering, — he  is  a  kind 
and  benevolent  friend,  giving  us  pleasant  employment  and 
making  our  greatest  happiness  to  consist  in  the  faithful 
performance  of  it. 

It  is  so  with  all  the  employments  of  life.  There  may  be 
some  hours  of  fatigue,  and  now  and  then  a  crisis  demand- 
ing toil,  of  a  character  that  we  shrink  from.  But  these  are 
so  few,  as  only  to  brighten  by  the  contrast,  what  would  be 
the  happiness  of  a  man's  ordinary  lot,  if  his  daily  duties 
were  performed  in  a  faithful  and  proper  manner.  For  we 
are  not  to  consider  what  is  the  actual  amount  of  enjoyment 
obtained  in  the  ordinary  pursuits  of  life,  but  what  would  be 
the  actual  amount,  if  men  would  attend  to  these  pursuits, 
in  the  manner  which  God  has  required.  If  they  were 
faithful,  industrious,  moderate  in  their  wishes,  cautious  in 
their  plans,  and  if  they  felt  that  filial  confidence  in  him 
which  would  enable  them  to  cast  on  him  all  responsibility 
and  care. 

3.  God  has  planned  human  happiness  of  a  still  higher 
kind,  by  making  the  heart  susceptible  of  love,  and  requir- 
ing men  to  exercise  love  towards  one  another.  This  union 
of  heart,  bv  which  he  meant  to  have  all  his  creatures  bound 


72  THE    WAY    TO    DO   GOOD.  [Ch.  2. 

Love.  Union.  The  institution  of  the  family. 

together,  would  give  rise  to  far  deeper  emotions  of  happi- 
ness, than  either  of  those  aheady  named,  or  rather  it  would 
mingle  with  and  brighten  these.  (  How  much  greater  de- 
light will  two  children  often  feel  in  the  friendship  of  one 
another,  than  in  gazing  into  the  beautiful  brook,  or  walking 
upon  the  shore;  or  rather,  how  will  their  happiness  be  in- 
creased tenfold  by  the  opportunity  of  playing  by  the  brook, 
or  rambling  upon  the  sea  shore  together.  There  is  a  double 
enjoyment  in  love, — the  pleasure  of  feeling  affection,  and 
the  pleasure  of  being  the  object  of  it;  it  is  hard  to  tell 
which  is  the  greatest?^  A  man  will  sometimes  neglect  his 
family,  that  he  may  increase  a  little  the  rapidity  with  which 
his  fortune  accumulates.  The  game  in  his  counting-room 
interests  him  more  than  the  circle  at  his  fireside; — but  he 
makes  a  sad  mistake,  to  barter  for  the  interest  of  such  a 
work,  the  far  richer,  deeper  emotions  of  happiness,  which 
he  might  secure  by  loving  and  being  beloved.  So  men 
every  where  are  eager  to  secure  their  own  rights  to  the 
uttermost  farthing,  and  consequently,  live  in  a  constant 
scene  of  jealousy,  suspicion,  and  angry  disputes.  How 
badly  they  judge; — for  the  sake  of  a  little  more  land,  or  a 
little  greater  influence,  or  a  little  more  rapid  gain,  to  lose 
the  real,  substantial,  enduring  happiness  of  peace,  and 
harmony,  and  happy  union.  And  all  this  loss  is  in  conse- 
quence of  a  deviation  from  God's  plan.  His  wish  is,  to 
secure  for  us  all,  the  happiness  of  union.  He  has  planned 
society  so  as  to  link  men  together  in  a  thousand  ways, — 
and  that  too,  by  links  so  strong  and  so  intricately  fastened, 
that  we  cannot  loosen  them.  He  intended  that  we  should 
be  happy  together. 

See  how  he  has  grouped  men  in  families, — having  laid 
the  foundation  of  this  institution  so  deep  in  the  very  consti- 
tution of  man,  that  there  has  been  no  nation,  no  age, — 
scarcely  a  single  savage  tribe,  that  has  not  been  drawn  to 
the  result  which  he  intended.  For  thousands  of  years,  this 
institution  has  been  assailed  by  every  power,  which  could 


I    Ch.  2.]  MOTIVES.  73 

I  Its  firm  foundations.  '  God's  plans  for  preventing  sin. 

shake   it  by  violence  from  without,   or  undermine  it  by 

treachery  within.     Lust  and  passion  have  risen  in  rebellion 

against  it,— Atheism  has  again  and  again  advanced  to  the 

attack, — but  it  stands  unmoved.    It  has  been  indebted  to  no 

human  power  for  its  defence.  It  has  needed  no  defence.  It 

stands  on  the  firm,  sure,  everlasting  foundations  which  God 

has  made  for  it.   Wars,  famine,  pestilence,  and  revolutions 

have  swept  over  the  face  of  society,  carrying  every  where 

confusion,  terror,  and  distress; — Time  kas  undermined  and 

destroyed  every  thing  which  his  tooth  could  touch,  and  all 

human  institutions  have  thus  been  altered  and  destroyed  in 

the  lapse  x)f  ages.     But  the  Family  lives  on:  it  stands  firm 

and  unshaken.     It  finds  its  way  wherever  human  beings 

go,  it  survives  every  shock,  and  rises  again  unharmed,  after 

every  tempest  which  blows  over  the  social  sky.     It  is  a 

contrivance  for  human  happiness,   and  God  has  laid  its 

..    foundations  too  deep  and  strong  to  be  removed. 

|»^      And  then  too,  God  has  so  planned,  the  human  heart,  and 

I   the  circumstances  in  which  we  find  ourselves  placed  in  this 

I   world,  that  men  must  live  togejther  in  social  communities. 

^   He  has  done  this  with  the  design  that  mutual-  kindness,  aid 

I   and  affection  should  heighten  the  happiness  of  the  whole 

I  These  feelings,  if  they  existed,  would  smooth  the  path,  and 

I   quiet  the  fears,  and  assuage  the  sorrows  of  every  man,  and 

*    more  than  double  every  earthly  enjoyment. 

4.  The  benevolence  of  God  shows  itself  most  conspicu- 
|.-  ously  in  his  plans  for  preventing  sin,  and  for  stopping  the 
progress  and  the  consequences  of  it,  when  it  is  committed. 
Temporary  sufl?ering,  however  severe,  including  all  the 
varieties  of  physical  evil,  is  nothing  compared  with  the 
miseries  of  sin, — that  viper,  whose  fangs  the  wretched  suf- 
ferer never  can  extract,  and  whose  wounds  never  heal.  All 
other  ills  human  fortitude  is  sufficient  to  bear.  There  is 
grief: — One  may  follow  to  the  grave  a  wife,  a  mother,  a 
husband,  a  sister,  a  child, — many  of  these  losses  may,  one 
7 


74  THE    WAY   TO    DO    GOOD.  [Ch.    2. 

The  sufferings  of  sin  the  most  intolerable. 

after  another,  inflict  their  wounds;  but  there  is  a  strength 
in  the  human  heart,  which  bears  itself  up  under  them  all. 
There  is  poverty  and  disappointment : — One  may  see  hopes 
blasted,  his  plans  destroyed,  and  all  the  ills  of  penury  made 
his  inevitable  portion,  for  the  remainder  of  his  days;  there 
is  a  fortitude  which  can  bear  these  things.  There  is 
sickness  and  pain: — One  may  be  a  prey  to  disease,  whose 
intense  pangs  goad  the  sufferer  almost  to  distraction,  or 
whose  wearisome  confinement  knows  no  intermission  for 
years; — there  is  many  a  patient  sufferer  to  be  found,  who 
can  bear  it  all  with  submission.  But  there  is  no  manliness, 
no  fortitude  in  the  human  spirit,  which  can  bear  it  up  under 
the  horrors  of  guilt, — past,  irrecoverably  past,  and  yet 
rising  in  all  its  vivid  coloring  to  the  soul  which  has  incur- 
red it,  and  overwhelming  it  with  remorse  and  despair.  The 
reproaches  of  a  conscience  once  thoroughly  aroused,  can 
neither  be  silenced  nor  borne.  They  come,  bringing  with 
them  the  frown  of  God.  They  bring  with  them  recollec- 
tions of  the  past,  which  pierce  the  soul  with  anguish,  and 
terrific  forebodings  as  to  the  future,  which  overwhelm  it 
with  horror.  No  human  spirit  can  sustain  its  energies, 
under  such  a  burden,  when  it  really  comes. 

Compared  with  the  evil,  and  the  attendant  sufferings  of 
sin,  all  physical  ill?  sink  into  utter  insignificance.  The 
blind  and  lame  wanderer,  without  house  or  home,  may  have 
a  quiet  conscience  and  a  firm  hope  of  happiness  in  heaven, 
which  will  take  away  the  sting  of  all  his  sorrows;  while 
the  weahhy  lover  of  the  world,  may  spend  his  days  in  mis- 
ery, under  the  galling  yoke  which  he  has  brought  upon  him, 
by  leading  a  life  of  sin.  WliD  is  it  that  is  driven  to  suicide, 
by  intensity  of  suffering  ?  Not  the  sick  man,  tortured  and 
worn  out  with  protracted  and  bodily  pain; — not  the  half 
starved  or  half  frozen  Indian,  or  gipsy; — it  is  the  fraudu- 
lent debtor, — the  guilty  defaulter, — the  criminal  exposed. 
Yes,  guilt  is  the  fountain  of  real  suffering, — and  the  great- 
est of  all  the  displays  of  the  benevolence  of  God,  is,  his 


Ch.  2.]  MOTIVES.  75 

The  most  incurable.  Illustration. 

great  original  plan  and  his  present  efforts  to  atone  for  guilt 
and  wipe  it  away. 

And  besides, — as  we  shall  see.  more  fully  as  we  proceed, 
sin  is  the  source  of  nearly  all  the  temporal  sufferings  of 
mankind,  and  there  can  be  no  permanent  relief  from  suf- 
fering but  by  reclaiming  from  sin.  Go  for  instance  to  the 
house  of  a  profligate  and  abandoned  man,  and  when  you 
see  the  wretched  condition  of  his  desolate  and  suffering 
family,  make  a  kind  and  vigorous  effort  to  relieve  them. 
Kindle  up  a  blazing  fire  upon  the  dying  embers  over  which 
you  found  them  shivering.  Cover  thorn  with  comfortable 
clothing,  and  replenish,  with  a  bountiful  hand,  their  ex- 
hausted stores.  Afler  a  few  weeks,  return  and  visit  them 
again.  The  fire  has  long  since  burned  away,  and  the 
miserable  cabin  is  as  cold  as  before.  The  children  are 
again  in  rags,  and  the  mother  is  again  vainly  striving  to  bar 
her  door  against  the  devourer,  hunger. 

Suppose,  again,  that,  dissatisfied  with  so  partial  and 
temporary  a  relief,  you  make  a  second  effort  of  a  different 
nature.  You  seek,  and  by  the  blessing  of  God,  you  reform 
the  man.  Return  again  at  the  end  of  a  few  months,  and  an 
industrious  and  frugal  hand  will  be  extended  to  you  at  the 
door,  to  welcome  you  to  a  happy  family,  and  to  a  per- 
manently comfortable  home;  and  you  may  now  even  take 
provisions  from  his  stoi-e,  and  fuel  from  his  pile,  and  carry- 
relief  to  others  that  are  miserable. 

This  is  a  very  simple  case,  but  it  illustrates  an  universal 
principle  which  lies  at  the  foundation  of  all  wise  and  effect- 
ual benevolence.  Bring  men  back  to  God  and  to  duty, 
and  their  happiness  is  safe.  Leave  them  in  sin,  and  you 
can  make  no  sensible  or  permanent  impression  upon  their 
miseries.  It  seems  as  if  God,  in  his  providence,  pursues  to 
a  degree,  to  which  human  feeling  is  hardly  prepared  to  fol- 
low, the  plan  of  leaving  the  miseries  of  sin  to  cut  their  own 
dreadful  way, — expending  all  his  energies  in  removing 
their  cause.     His  benevolence  is  most  conspicuous  in  his 


t6  THE    WAY   TO   DO    GOOD.  [Ch.  2, 


Character  of  the  divine  benevolence. 


plans  for  spreading  the  dominion  of  holiness  throughout  his 
empire, — and  especially  in  this  world,  in  his  efforts  to  re- 
claim mankind  from  their  sins. 

Such  is  God's  plan  for  promoting  human  happiness.  It 
aims  at  promoting  enjoyment  of  every  kirid  and  in  every 
way.  It  is  of  a  cheerful,  happy  character,  too.  The  be- 
nevolence which  we  often  see  exercised  by  men,  is  sombre, 
stern  and  gloomy,— looking  only  at  the  great,  serious  in- 
terests of  humanity,  and  perhaps  dwelling  too  exclusively 
on  the  great  futurity.  The  benevolence  of  God,  while  it 
aims  first  at  these  great  interests,  does  not  neglect  the 
others.  It  takes  a  cheerful  and  pleasant  view  of  the 
present  condition  of  man,  and  tries  to  make  him  happy  to- 
day, as  well  as  to  prepare  him  for  happiness  to-morrow. 
It  decks  all  nature  in  smiles,  and  arranges  those  thousand 
influences  which  speak  for  the  moment  to  the  heart  and 
give  it  a  transitory  happiness.  Gt)d  gives  conscience  a  seat 
in  the  human  soul,  speaking  strongly  through  her,  of  sin, 
of  righteousness,  and  of  a  judgment  to  come,  that  he  may 
make  men  happy  in  eternity; — he  also  adorns  their  present 
home  with  a  thousand  beauties,  and  arranges  a  countless 
variety  of  agreeable  employments  for  them,  that  he  may 
make  them  happy  here.  He  clothes  the  earth  with  a  use- 
ful vegetation  to  supply  the  substantial  wants  of  the  crea- 
tures he  has  formed;  and  he  also  brings  out  the  lovely 
hues  of  the  flowers,  and  arranges  all  the  delightful  influ- 
ences of  morning  and  evening,  that  he  may  gratify  the  eye, 
•and  please  the  fancy.  He  does  not  coldly  and  sternly 
pursue  what  we  call  utility  alone.  He  has  taste,  and  has 
ornamented  his  whole  creation  most  richly,  to  give  us, 
together  with  the  substantial  supply  of  every  want,  the 
charms  of  elegance  and  refinement.  His  plan  is  thus  to 
communicate  to  our  souls,  a  cheerful,  happy  influence,  to 
gladden  them  at  the  present  moment,  as  well  as  to  prepare 
them  for  substantial  happiness  to  come.  The  Christian, 
therefore,  who  wishes  to  do  good  on  principle,  and  to  be 


Ch.  2.]  MOTIVES.  tt 

Cooperation  with  God. 

the  cooperator  with  God,  must  act  in  a  similar  way.  He 
must  come  and  give  himself  up  to  his  Maker's  service,  and 
aim  at  carrying  out  all  his  plans.  He  must  first  of  all 
strive  to  bring  men  back  to  their  allegiance  to  him,  since 
without  this,  every  other  plan  for  promoting  human  happi- 
ness must  fail.  Then  he  must  do  all  he  can  to  promote  the 
present  enjoyment  of  all  God's  creatures,  in  every  way  in 
his  power.  He  must  love  happiness  on  a  small  scale,  as 
well  as  on  a  large  scale,- — he  must  wish  that  all  around 
him  should  enjoy  themselves  now,  as  well  as  a  thousand 
years  hence,  and  a  thousand  years  hence,  as  well  as  now. 
This  benevolence  must  reign  so  constantly  in  the  heart,  as 
to  give  an  habitual  character  to  the  feelings,  and  expres- 
sion to  the  countenance,  and  tone  to  the  voice,  so  that  the 
presence  and  the  influence  of  the  cooperator  with  God, 
may  speak  in  the  same  language  to  all  around  him,  which 
the  expression  of  the  face  of  nature  so  plainly  conveys  to 
the  heart  that  is  reconciled  and  forgiven,  and  feels  that  its 
Maker  is  really  its  Friend. 

This,  then,  my  reader,  is  the  work  which  you  must  do,  if 
you  wish  to  cooperate  with  God.  These  are  the  objects  you 
must  aim  at, — not  occasionally, — not  now  and  then  merely, 
when  some  details  of  suffering  obtrude  themselves  upon 
your  mind,  and  awaken  a  temporary /eeZtng-, — but  steadily, 
constantly,  unweariedly,  as  the  great  business  of  life. 
Your  own  happiness  will  thus  indeed  be  much  promoted, 
but  your  aim  in  pursuing  these  objects  must  not  be  your 
own  happiness,  but  the  accomplishment  of  the  objects 
themselves, — extending  the  reign  of  holiness,  and  fulfil- 
ling your  duty  as  a  grateful  and  obedient  child  of  God. 
7* 


78  THE  WAt  ro  DO  GOOD.  [Ch.'3. 

Personal  happiness.  A  distinction. 

CHAPTER  IIL 

OURSELVES. 
*'  A  wouBded  spirit,  who  can  bear.** 

The  reader  hiay  perhaps  be  surprised  to  find  in  a  work 
Oft  doing  good,, that  one  of  the  first  chapters  of  practical 
directions  is  devoted  to  self.  But  our  duties  in  respect  to 
the  promotion  of  our  own  happiness,  are  very  often  and 
very  sadly  neglected.  There  is  selfishness  enough  in  the 
world,  no  doubt, — and  eager  desires  to  promote  one's  own 
interests  in  respect  to  property,  and  rights,  and  influence, 
and  power, — but  there  is  very  little  sober,  judicious,  steady 
effort  to  secure  personal  happiness. 

And  yet  it  is  plainly  a  duty  to  do  this.  If  the  happiness 
of  the  whole  community  is  desirable,  then  is,  of  course, 
the  happiness  of  every  individual  who  is  a  member  of  it. 
And  each  one  who  aims  at  promoting  universal  enjoyment, 
must  take  especial  care  to  secure  his  owh.  While  he  feels 
that  his  own  enjoyment  is  no  more  important  than  that  of 
every  other  individual,  he  must  also  remember  that  it  is  no 
less  so.  In  fact,  his  desire  to  secure  the  happiness  of 
others,  is  actually  regulated  in  the  Savior*s  law,  by  the 
measure  of  his  interest  in  his  own. 

And  here  I  ought  to  point  out  to  my  young  readers  a 
distinction,  which,  though  simply  metaphysical  in  its  char- 
acter, is  very  important  to  a  full  understanding  of  this  sub- 
ject. It  is  often  said  that  all  men  are  pursuing  happiness, 
and  must,  by  the  very  constitution  and  law  of  their  nature, 
— that  they  may  mistake  the  mode,  as  they  often  do,  but 
that  there  is  no  want  of  the  disposition  to  seek  it. 

Now  it  will  appear,  on  a  more  attentive  consideration  of 
human  nature,  that  all  men  are  not  pursuing  happiness. 
They  have  other  objects  which  they  pursue  as  ends,  not  as 
mere  means.  For  example,  a  man  in  political  life  is  press- 
ing forward,  and  making  every  effort  to  obtain  a  certain 


Ch.  3.]  OURSELVES,  10 

Love  of  fame  or  of  power  distinct  from  love  of  happiness. 

place  of  influence.  It  is  not,  however,  from  any  calculation 
he  has  made  that  this  is  the  way  to  find  happiness.  He 
will  tell  you,  if  you  ask  him,  that  he  has  never  enjoyed 
any  happiness  since  he  entered  the  scene  of  strife,  hatred 
and  war,  in  which  he  is  involved,  and  that  he  never  expects 
to  find  any  till  he  leaves  it.  Why  then,  you  ask,  does  he 
not  abandon  the  ground.^  Because  there  is^  in  the  very 
constitution  of  his  soul,  a  thirst  for  power  and  fame,  as  well 
as  a  thirst  for  happiness,  and  circumstances  have  so  in- 
flamed and  excited  the  one,  that  he  scarcely  heeds  the 
other.  He  presses  forward  in  his  course,  because  he  is 
ambitious,  not  because  he  wishes  to  be  happy;  that  is,  he 
seeks  political  elevation  on  its  own  account, — as  an  end, — • 
he  feels  a  thirst  for  it,  which  thirst  can  be  slaked  in  no 
other  way  than  by  the  attainment  of  the  particular  thing  he 
seeks.  It  is  true  that  there  is  a  kind  of  pleasure  in  in- 
dulging this  and  all  the  other  simple  propensities  of  the 
human  heart:  but  it  is  not  a  calculation  on  this  pleasure 
which  carries  a  man  onward.  The  mind  rests  or  reposes 
on  the  power,  or  the  fame,  as  its  ultimate  end, — as  a  good 
in  itself, — not  as  a  means  merely  of  securing  happiness. 

Thus,  so  far  from  all  seeking  happiness,  there  is  a  great 
number  and  variety  of  objects  which  we  seek,  each  of 
which  is  felt  by  the  heart  to  be  a  good  in  itself,  and  is 
sought  on  its  own  account.  Sometimes  we  distinctly  un- 
derstand that  the  path  which  we  are  taking,  is  leading  us 
actually  away  from  happiness,  and  yet  we  will  press  on  in 
it.  How  frequently  does  this  take  place  in  reference  to 
some  besetting  sin.  We  press  on  to  the  committing  of  it, 
conscious,  all  the  time,  that  we  are  only  making  misery  for 
ourselves.  It  is  not  in  such  a  case  that  under  the  influence 
of  a  hallucination,  we  think  that  sin  is  a  means  of  happiness, 
but  that  under  the  dominion  of  one  of  the  original  and  sim- 
ple impulses  of  our  nature,  we  love  sin  rather  than  happi- 
ness. Just  as  a  hungry  man  eats,  not  under  the  influence 
of  a  cool  calculation  that  food  is  a  necessary  means  of 


80  THE    WAY   TO   DO    GOOD.  [Ch.  3. 

Love  of  happiness  oflen  overpowered.  The  merchants. 

preserving  life,  but  impelled  by  an  instinct  of  nature,  rest- 
ing on  the  food  as  its  ultimate  object.  He  will  even,  when, 
in  a  starving  condition,  he  comes  upon  an  unexpected 
supply,  obey  this  impulse  to  such  a  degree,  as  to  destroy 
the  very  life  which  he  ought  to  endeavor  to  save ;  and  that 
too,  when  he  is  warned  that  this  will  be  the  effect.  He  does 
not  mistake  the  way  to  preserve  his  life,. — but  the  cravings 
of  starvation,  demand  food  so  loudly  as  to  overpower  even 
the  love  of  life.* 

So  the  love  for  happiness  is  overpowered  by  the  tumul- 
tory  clamors  of  the  crowd  of  ungodly  lusts  and  passions 
which  fill  the  human  bosom.  Men  are  employed  eagerly, 
indefatigably,  in  making  money, — not  for  the  sake  of 
happiness,  but  for  the  sake  of  the  money.  The  mind 
reposes  upon  possession  as  the  good, — the  ultimate  end 
which  it  seeks.  Instead  of  desiring  happiness,  and  plan- 
ning with  reference  to  the  attainment  of  it,  the  thought 
perhaps  never  comes  into  the  head,  from  one  end  of  the 
year  to  the  other.  Ask  a  hundred  merchants  whether  the 
way  they  have  adopted  for  the  management  of  their  busi- 
ness is  the  best,  i.  e.  the  most  profitable  way,  and  they  will 
all  be  ready  with  an  answer;  they  will  show  you  that  they 
have  looked  at  that  subject  all  around,  and  are  pursuing 
their  present  plan?  with  the  deliberate  expectation  that 
they  are  the  best  they  can  form.  But  ask  them  whether 
their  plans  of  life  are  those  which  they  think  best  adapted 
to  secure  their  highest  happiness,  and  they  will  stare  at 
your  question  in  vacant  surprise.     If  they  give  any  answer, 

*  If  any  of  my  readers  entertain  views  of  the  human  mind  which  lead  them 
to  maintain,  that  by  a  careful  analysis,  we  shall  find  that  obedience  to  these 
impulses  is,  in  fact,  only  one  of  the  forms  which  love  of  happiness  assumes, 
they  must  not  consider  these  remarks  as  intended  to  conflict  witli  that  theory 
at  all.  I  use  the  phrase,  "  love  of  happiness,"  in  its  ordinary,  popular  signi- 
fication;— as  this  work  is  designed  solely  for  popular  use;  and  for  all  popular 
and  practical  purposes,  tliere  is  a  wide  distinction  between  the  rational 
search  for  happiness,  and  blind  obedience  to  the  instincts  and  impulses  of 
nature,  as  all  will  admit,  whatever  may  be  tlifiir  metaphysical  theories. 


Ch.  3.]  OURSELVES.  81 

Happy  rather  than  rich.  Questions  to  the  reader. 

it  will  be  a  mechanical  one, — or  if  they  really  look  at  the 
question,  in  order  to  give  an  honest  reply,  ninety  of  them 
will  see  that  it  is  a  question  they  never  have  considered. 
They  have  been  living  on  from  year  to  year,  obeying  cer- 
tain impulses,  but  never  forming  any  serious  plans  for 
happiness,  or  even  taking  the  subject  into  account. 

"He  never  will  be  very  rich,"  said  a  gentleman  de- 
scribing a  certain  Christian  merchant,  "because  he  had 
rather  be  happy  than  rich."  It  was  a  philosophical  dis- 
tinction, and  it  designated  a  state  of  mind  which  is  not  very 
often  found  among  those  who  have  the  opportunity  of 
making  a  fortune. 

You  have,  therefore,  my  reader,  two  questions  to  ask 
yourself  in  reference  to  the  subject  of  this  chapter.  First, 
are  you  happy  now?  Consider  and  answer  it  understand- 
ingly.  Is  your  mind  at  peace,  and  does  the  current  of 
time  as  it  passes  on,  bring  hours  of  enjoyment  to  you,  day 
after  day.  Look  back  to  the  past  week;  think  of  the  feel- 
ings with  which  you  have  engaged  in  your  duties;  call  to 
mind  your  employments,  your  connections  with  others,  your 
daily  routine  of  duty,  and  the  manner  in  which  you  have 
performed  it; — and  then  ask  yourself  the  question  whether 
you  are  happy.  Or  is  there  something  wrong?  Is  there 
a  corroding,  restless  uneasiness, — an  unsettled,  anxious 
mind,  such  that  your  di^ys  pass  on  without  much  real  en- 
joyment ? 

The  second  question  is  whether  you  wish  for  happiness, 
and  are  willing  to  plan  for  it.  Or  is  your  heart  set  upon 
making  money,  or  gaining  fame,  or  gratifying  appetite  or 
passion  ?  These  impulses  will  lead  you  in  a  very  different 
path  from  that  which  conducts  to  happiness,  and  it  is  very 
important  that  you  should  decide  distinctly  which  you  wilt 
pursue.  If  it  is  happiness  which  you  really  wish  for,  and 
if,  for  the  sake  of  securing  it,  you  are  willing  to  give  up 
what  is  inconsistent  with  it, — sin,  appetite,  covetousness, 
ambition,    passion,  and  every  thing  else  which  comes  in 


82  .  THE    WAY   TO   DO    GOOD.  [Ch.    3. 

Thorough  repentance  and  conversion.  A  common  case. 

its  way,  you  may  easily,  with  God's  blessing,  accomplish 
your  desire.     Here  follow  some  rules. 

1.  See  that  you  make  your  peace  with  God  thoroughly. 
This  book,  being  a  continuation  of  the  Young  Christian 
and  Corner-Stone,  takes  for  granted  that  the  reader  has 
had  fully  explained  to  him  the  necessity  and  the  nature  of 
repentance  and  conversion.  I  shall  not  now,  therefore, 
repeat  what  has  already  been  said  on  that  subject.  No 
person  can  be  happy  who  does  not  confess  and  forsake  his 
sins,  and  make  peace  with  God; — that  is  very  plain, — and 
we  are  altogether  too  far  on  in  the  course  of  our  instructions 
to  the  young  Christian,  to  urge  it  here.  It  is  one  of  the 
elements  which  we  have  gone  by.  The  point  to  be  urged 
here,  is  not  merely  that  you  must  confess  and  forsake  sin 
in  order  to  enjoy  peace  and  happiness,  but  that  you  must 
do  it  thoroughly,  and  frequently,  so  as  to  keep  at  all  times 
in  a  state  of  perfect  peace  with  God. 

The  religious  history  of  the  soul  is  commonly  this.  A 
young  man  when  first  convicted  of  sin,  arid  brought  to 
heartfelt  repentance,  feels  so  overwhelmed  with  a  sense  of 
the  enormity  of  his  guilt,  and  his  heart  is  so  full  of  love 
and  gratitude  to  God,  that  it  seems  to  him  that  he  can 
never  wander  again.  Sin  seems  to  have  lost  all  her  power. 
Temptation  is  robbed  of  all  her  alluring  colors,  and  stands 
exposed  before  him,  the  object  of  his  utter  aversion.  He 
wonders  that  he  could  have  sinned  as  he  has  done,  and  is 
sure  that  he  can  never  do  so  again. 

But  sin  is  wounded,  not  destroyed.  The  evil  plant  is 
cut  down,  but  not  eradicated.  The  roots  remain,  and  in  a 
few  days  or  weeks,  when  the  excitement  of  his  first  ardor 
is  over,  they  begin, — slowly, — to  sprout  again.  Whatever 
his  great  besetting  sins  may  have  been,  they  appear  again,  , 
disguised,  however,  by  assuming  a  modified  form,  and  in- 
termingled with  other  and  better  plants  in  the  garden  of  his 
heart, — so  that  he  does  not  notice  them.  He  is  busy 
about  something  else,  and  in  the  meantime  the  noxious 


Ch.  3.]  OURSELVES.  '  83 

Incipient  neglect  of  prayer.  Backsliding.  The  usual  steps. 

y  .        ,  , 

weeds  grow  on,  but  grow  so  gradually,  that  though  he  at 
last  begins  to  see  them,  they  do  not  startle  him.  He  gets 
accustomed  to  them,  before  he  observes  them. 

By  and  by  he  finds  himself  indulging  sin,  and  perhaps 
committing  overt  acts  which  imply  that  he  has  made  a 
very  considerable  progress  in  his  downward  road.  Some 
Saturday  night  as  he  is  returning  to  rest,  he  thinks,  just 
as  his  faculties  are  sinking  into  slumber,  that  he  has,  to 
all  intents  and  purposes,  actually  neglected  secret  prayer 
during  the  whole  week.  His  moral  sensibihties  are  how- 
ever so  much  blunted,  that  he  does  not  feel  the  guilt  of  this, 
but  still  he  recollects  how  often  he  has  heard  the  danger 
of  this  sin  pointed  out,  and  perhaps  how  often  and  how 
emphatically  he  has  himself  pointed  it  out, — and  he  feels  a 
moment's  alarm.  But  it  is  a  very  superficial  alarm;  he 
commences  a  prayer,  but  before  he  has  framed  many  of 
his  petitions,  his  growing  drowsiness  overpowers  both  con- 
science and  reason,  and  he  sinks  to  sleep.  The  only  effect 
of  this  momentary  alarm  is,  not  to  make  him  return  to  his 
duty  on  the  next  week,  but  only  to  feel  a  little  more  uneasy 
in  the  neglect  of  it. 

Or  perhaps  his  besetting  sin  is  pride,  or  sensuality, — the 
indulgence  of  some  appetite,  or  animal  passion, — or  world- 
liness,  or  covetousness;  and  he  finds  after  a  time,  that 
these  sins,  though  he  hoped  they  were  crucified  and  slain, 
are  still  existing  in  all  their  strength.  They  have  returned 
however,  in  the  manner  already  explained,  so  gradually, 
that  he  has  become  familiar  with  their  dominion  asain 
They  have  fastened  their  chains  upon  him  by  slow  degrees, 
and  he  has  gradually  become  accustomed  to  their  thraldom, 
so  that  he  does  not  arouse  himself  to  any  vigorous  effort  to 
»  escape;  he  only  perceives  his  condition  just  often  enough, 
and  just  distinctly  enough,  to  make  him  uneasy  and  un- 
happy. God  withdraws  from  him  and  hides  his  face.  His 
prayers  are  not  heard.  He  knows  they  are  not  heard. 
He  perhaps  keeps  up  the  form,  but  he   feels  guilty   ana 


fill  THE    WAY    TO    DO    GOOD.  [Gh.  3. 

Necessity  of  entire  reconciliation  witU  God.  2.  Order  in  worldly  affairs. 

condemned  all  the  time.  But  the  most  that  he  does,  in  the 
way  of  repentance  and  return,  is  to  say  now  and  then,  in  a 
moment  of  more  sdrious  reflection  than  usual,  "  I  am  wan- 
dering sadly  from  God:  I  must  return.  This  will  never  do; 
for  I  am  destroying  my  peace  and  happiness,  and  endan- 
gering my  soul."     Then  he  sinks  again  i.ito  his  lethargy. 

Now  what  I  mean  to  say  to  the  reader,  in  respect  to  this 
part  of  my  subject,  is  this.  If  you  wish  to  be  happy, — if 
you  wish  to  have  any  real  peace,  any  steady  and  substan- 
tial enjoyment,  you  must  make  up  your  mind  decidedlyj 
whether  you  will  be  the  child  of  God,  or  not.  If  you  ex- 
pect him  to  take  you  under  his  care,  you  must  be  his,  really, 
honestly,  thoroughly, — not  merely  in  pretence  and  in  form. 
If  you  find,  therefore,  in  looking  into  your  heart,  that  you 
are  not  happy,  it  is  very  probable  that  the  cause  may  be, 
that  you  are  not  really  and  fully  at  peace  with  God.  You 
have  only  declared  a  truce,  and  then  recommenced  hostili- 
ties. Of  course,  you  cannot  expect  to  enjoy  a  quiet  and  a 
happy  heart.  You  may  depend  upon  it,  that  your  days 
must  be  days  of  uneasiness  and  misery,  until  you  come  and 
make  yourself  wholly  the  Lord's.  To  secure  your  happi- 
ness then,  your  first  duty  is  most  faithfully  and  thoroughly 
to  examine  your  spiritual  condition, — to  confess  and  to 
crucify  your  dearest  sins,  and  casting  yourself  upon  the 
merits  and  atonement  of  your  Savior,  to  make  a  complete 
and  lasting  peace  with  God.  Then  you  will  be  prepared 
to  go  on  to  the  next  step. 

2.  And  the  next  step,  in  the  order  of  importance,  is,  to 
see  that  all  your  worldly  affairs  are  in  order.  The  magic 
power  of  system  in  facilitating  effort,  has  often  been  praised, 
but  it  has,  if  possible,  a  still  greater  power  to  promote  hap* 
piness.  People  talk  about  the  cares  of  business,  the  per- 
plexities of  their  daily  lot,  the  endless  intricacies  in  which 
they  find  themselves  involved.  But  they  are,  nine  out  of 
ten  of  them,  the  cares  of  mismanagement, — the  perplexities 
and  the  intricacies  of  confusion.     The  burdens  of  human 


Ch.  3.J  t)trRS£LVES.  "55 

Effects  of  system.  History  of  James.  His  morning's  duties^ 

life,  are,  probably,  upon  the  average,  doubled,  and  some- 
times rendered  tea-fold  greater  than  they  otherwise  would 
be,  by  the  want  of  regularity  and  system.  The  proof  of 
this  is,  that  when  a  man,  either  from  some  native  peculiar- 
ity of  mind,  w  the  effect  of  earfy  education,  acquires  the 
liabit  of  orAor  and  method,  he  can  accomplish  more  than 
twice  as  much  as  ordinary  men, — and  of  all  the  men  in  the 
community,  he  is  the  most  likely  never  to  be  in  a  hurry, — 
but  always  to  be  calm  and  quiet,  and  to  have  leisure  for 
any  new  and  sudden  call.  Now,  if  he  can  clo  twice  as 
ftiuch,  with  no  more  care  and  hurry,  it  is  plain  that  he 
could  perform  the  ordinary  work  of  man,  with  a  far  more 
quiet  and  peaceful  mind.  This  is  unquestionable.  The 
facts  are  notorious,  and  the  inference  from  them  immediate 
and  irresistible. 

But  let  us  look  more  particularly  at  the  manner  in  which 
irregularity  and  confusion,  in  the  management  of  worldly 
business,  affects  the  peace  and  happiness  of  the  heart. 
There  are  few  persons  so  correct  in  this  respect,  that  they 
will  not  find  a  testimony  within  them,  to  the  truth  of  what  I 
shall  say.     We  will  begin  with  a  very  simple  case. 

James  is  a  school-boy.  His  affairs,  though  not  quite  so 
intrinsically  extensive  and  important,  as  those  of  an  East 
India  merchant,  are  still  important  to  him.  He  has  his 
business,  his  cares,  his  disappointments,  and  the  conditions 
of  success  and  happiness  are  the  same  with  him  as  with  all 
mankind.  We  will,  therefore,  take  his  case  as  the  basis 
of  our  illustration,  as  we  hope  this  chapter  will  be  read  by 
many  a  school-boy,  and  the  imagination  of  the  man  can 
more  easily  descend  to  the  school-boy's  scene  of  labor, 
than  the  boy^s  ascend  to  that  of  the  man. 

James,  then,  as  I  have  said,  is  a  school-boy,  and  his  first 

duty  in  the  morning, — I  speak  only  of  his  worldly  duties 

here, — is  to  rise  at  six  o'clock,  and  make  the  fires  in  his 

father's  house.     James  hears  the  clock  strike  six, — but  it 

8' 


86  THE    WAY    TO    DO    GOOD.  [Ch.  3. 

Procrastination.  Its  folly.  James's  sufferings. 

is  cold,  and  he  shrinks  from  his  morning's  task,  so  he  lies 
still,  postponing  the  necessary  effort:  his  mind,  all  the  time 
dwelling  upon  it  and  dreading  it,  and  his  conscience  goad- 
ing and  worrying  him  with  the  thought  that  he  is  doing 
wrong.  Thus  pass,  fifteen  minutes  most  wretchedly.  The 
mistake  he  makes,  is  in  imagining  ihtit  of  the  two  evils,  a 
little  sensation  of  cold  on  his  face  and  limbs,  while  dress- 
ing, and  on  the  other  hand,  the  corroding  tooth  of  a  dis- 
turbed conscience,  gnawing  within,— the  former  is  the 
greatest.  So  he  quietly  waits,  suffering  the  latter  for  fifteen 
or  twenty  minutes,  until  the  lapse  of  time  makes  it  too  in- 
tolerable to  be  borne  any  longer,  and  then  he  slowly  forces 
himself  out  of  his  bed ;  when  he  finds, — sagacious  boy,—- 
that  he  has  got  still  to  bear  the  other  evil,  after  all.  In- 
stead of  taking  the  least  of  the  two  evils,  he  has  taken  both, 
and  the  bitterest  first.  Many  of  my  readers  will  acquit 
themselves  of  James's  folly.  But  be  not  in  haste.  Do  you 
never  in  any  way  procrastinate  duty  ?  Look  over  your 
mental  memorandum^  ?ind  see  if  there  is  nothing  upon  it 
that  you  ought  to  do,  but  which  you  have  been  putting  off, 
and  putting  off,  because  you  have  been  dreading  it.  If  so, 
you  are  James  completely.  He  who  procrastinates  duty 
which  he  knows  at  last  must  be  done,  always  does,  of  two 
evils,  choose  both,  beginning  with  the  bitterest  portion. 

I  said  James  had  chosen  two  evils.  He  has,  in  fact, 
chosen  three,  for  the  recollection  of  this  neglect  of  duty,  or 
rather  the  impression  it  has  made,  will  continue  all  the 
morning.  For  hours,  there  will  be  a  settled  uneasiness  in 
his  mind,  whose  cause  and  origin  he  may  not  distinctly  un- 
derstand, though  he  might  find  it,  if  he  would  search  for 
it.  He  feels  restless  and  miserable,  though  he  knows  not 
exactly  why. 

When  James  comes  down  to  his  work,  he  finds  no  prop- 
er preparation  made.  The  wood,  which  ought  to  have  been 
carefully  prepared  the  evening  before,  is  out  under  the 
snow.    The  fire  has  gone  out,  and  his  tinderbox  he  cannot 


I 


Ch.  3.]  (tBRSEtVEs.  87 

Shiftlessness  j — disorder ; — confusion, — and  miserj'. 

find.  He  has  no  place  for  it,  and  of  course  he  has  to 
search  for  it  at  random.  When  he  finds  it,  the  matches 
are  gone,  the  flint  is  worn  out,  and  only  a  few  shreds  of 

tinder  icmaln.      Perplexed    and    irritated  at  the  hox,  instead 

of  heing  penitent  for  his  own  sinful  negligence,  he  toils  for 
a  long  time,  and  at  last  meets  with  partial  success  in  kind- 
ling his  morning  fires,  an  hour  after  the  proper  time.  The 
family,  however,  do  not  distinctly  call  him  to  account  for 
his  negligence,  for  the  family  which  produces  such  a  char- 
acter, will  generally  be  itself  as  shiftless  as  he.  Still, 
^  though  he  expects  to  sustain  no  immediate  accountability, 
he  feels  uneasy  and  restless,  especially  as  he  finds  that  his 
postponed  and  neglected  morning's  work,  is  encroaching 
upon  the  time  he  had- allotted  to  his  morning's  lesson. 

For  James  is,  as  I  have  already  said,  a  school-boy,  and 
the  lesson  which  he  is  to  be  called  upon  to  recite,  as  soon 
as  he  enters  school  in- the  morning,  he  had  postponed  from 
the  evening  before,  when  it  ought  to  have  been  studied^  to 
the  half  hour  after  breakfast,  which,  without  any  reason, 
he  expected  that  he  should  find.  Acting  without  plan  and 
without  calculation,  he  is,  of  course,  disappointed,  and 
when  he  rises  from  his  breakfast  table,  he  seems  surprised 
to  find  that  it  is  time  for  school  to  begin.  He  hurries  away 
to  make  his  preparations, — to  find  his  books,  and  his  hat, 
and  his  coat, — for  every  morning  they  have  to  be  found. 
He  goes  about  the  house  with  chafed  feelings,  scowling 
brow  and  fretful  tone,  displeased  with  every  body  and  every 
thing,  except  the  proper  object  of  displeasure, — himself 

He  hurries  to  school.  It  is  a  bright  and  beautiful  winter 
morning,  and  every  thing  external  tends  to  calm  the  mind 
to  peaceful  happiness,  or  to  awaken  emotions  of  joy.  But 
James  cannot  be  happy.  Even  if  he  -should  now  begin  to 
be  faithful  in  duty,  it  would  be  many  hours  before  the  tur- 
bulent sea  of  commotion  which  he  has  raised  among  the 
moral  feelings  of  his  heart,  would  subside.  He  worries 
along,  restless,  anxious,-^conscience  gnawing  upon  him,— 


"M 


88'  THE    WAT  TO    DQ   GOOD.  [Ch,  3. 

James's  character.        Settled  and  permanent  unhappmesa.       The  application, 

unhappy,  he  knows  not  why, — and  looking  a\ray  from  him- 
self, at  the  external  circumstances  in  which  he  is  placed, 
as  the  sources  of  his  sufferings,  instead  of  finding  their 
true  cause  within. 

I  need  not  follow  hhn  tbrongh  the  day.  Every  one  will 
see,^  that  with  such  habits,  he  must  be  miserable.  And  yet 
James  is  not  a  bad  boy,  in  the  common  sense  of  the  word. 
He  has  no  vices.  He  will  not  steal.  He  will  not  lie.  He 
loves  his  father  and  mother,  and  never  directly  disobeys 
them,  or  does  any  thing  intentionally  to  give  them  pain. 
And  perhaps  my  readers  will  be  much  surprised,  to  have 
me  tell  them  that  he  is  a  Christian,  He  is,  nevertheless, 
a  sincere  Christian.  He  has  repented  of  his  sins,  and 
made  his  peace  with  God,  and  lives  in  the  daily  habit  of 
communion  with  God.  In  his  hours  of  retirement  and 
prayer,  he  experiences  many  seasons  of  high  enjoyment, — ; 
and  yet  generally  he  leads  a  very  wretched  life,  A  con- 
stant, wearing,  irritating  uneasiness  corrodes  his  inmost 
soul,  he  knows  not  why  or  wherefore.  In  fact,  he  seldom 
inquires  why.  He  has  borne  it  so  long  and  so  constantly, 
that  Ire  has  no  idea  that  serenity,  peace  of  mind,  and 
steady  happiness,  is  within  the  reach  of  the  human  soul,  in 
this  world.  Thus  he  goes  on,  accomplishing  very  little,  and 
suffering  a  great  deal^  and  the  reader  must  remember  that 
it  is  the  last, — ^the  suffering, — that  we  are  now  considering; 
for  our  object,  in  this  chapter,  is,  not  to  show  how  want 
of  system,  and  regularity,  and  faithfulness,  interferes  with 
success  in  life,  but  how  it  annihilates  happiness. 

Very  many  of  my  readers  now,  will  probably  find,  by 
careful  examination  of  themselves,  that  though  their  cir 
cumstances  and  condition  may  be  totally  different  from 
those  of  James,  their  characters  are  substantially  like  his. 
Disorder,  irregularity,  and  perhaps  confusion,  reign  in  your 
affairs.  Instead  of  acting  on  a  general  plan,  having  your 
business  well  arranged,  your  accounts  settled,  your  work 
in  advance, — you  act  from  impulse,  and  temporary  neces- 


Gh.  3.]  OURSELVES.  •  89 

Necessary  condition  of  happiness.  The  master  of  a  family. 

' T: • 

sity.  Instead  of  looking  forward  and  foreseeing  duty,  and 
providing  for  its  claims,  regularly  and  methodically,  you 
wait  until  it  forces  itself  upon  you,  and  then  waste  your 
time  and  your  spirits  in  hesitating  on  the  question,  which 
of  two  things,  both  apparently  duty,  you  shall  do;  or  by 
endeavoring  to  provide,  by  temporary  shifts,  for  unexpected 
emergencies,  which  need  not  have  been  unexpected  or  un- 
provided for.  You  neglect  or  postpone  unpleasant  duties, 
leaving  them  to  hang  a  burden  upon  your  mind,  marring 
your  peace  and  happiness,  until  at  length,  you  are  forced 
to  attend  to  them,  not,  however,  until  some  new  neglect  or 
postponement  is  ready  to  supply  their  place  by  a  new  thorn 
of  irritation  in  your  side. 

I  say  then  that  the  second  great  rule  for  the  securing  of 
your  own  personal  happiness,  is,  to  reduce  all  your  worldly 
business,  your  affairs,  your  property,  your  domains,  your 
employments,  your  pleasures, — reduce  every  thing  to  order. 
Without  it,  you  cannot  have  a  peaceful  mind,  and  of 
course,  cannot  be  happy.  But  I  must  be  more  particular 
in  describing  what  I  mean.  For  as  the  book  is  designed 
for  practical  usefulness,  I  may  often  properly  descend  from 
the  dignity  of  general  moral  instruction,  to  minute  and  spe- 
cific details  of  duty. 

Suppose,  then,  you  are  the  master  of  a  family.  Now 
unless  your  household  affairs  are  all  well  arranged,  and 
conducted  methodically,  they  will  be  a  source  of  uneasiness 
to  you.  A  gate  hanging  by  one  hinge,  or  a  broken  latch, 
or  a  caster  off  of  a  piece  of  furniture,  are  mere  trifles  in 
themselves;  and  so  is  the  point  of  a  thorn,  broken  off  in 
your  hand,  and  one  is  just  such  a  sort  of  trifle  as  the  other. 
You  will  find,  probably,  if  you  possess  the  difficult  art  of 
analyzing  your  own  feelings,  that  a  very  large  portion  of 
the  uncomfortable  feelings,  you  have  during  those  hours 
which  you  spend  at  home, — for  I  suppose,  of  course,  that 
you  are  a  Christian,  and  have  no  serious  anxieties  about 
eternity, — arise  from  just  such  things.  Now  make  thorough 
8* 


do  "         THE   WAY  TO  DCf  GOODV  [Cll.  5. 

Regulation.  w  The  mistress.  Drawers  and  closets. 

. —^ 

work  of  k,  an4  remove  them  all.  Arouse  your  moral  reso- 
lution, and  take  hold  at  once.  Go  through  your  premises, 
and  see  that  every  thing  is  as  it  ought  to  be.  Whenever 
you  find  any  difficulty,— any  thing  that  produces  friction 
and  disturbance,  stop  till  you  have  devised  and  applied  the 
best  remedy  you  can.  See  that  things  have  then-  places, 
and  that  they  keep  them.  See  too,  that  duties  and  employ- 
ments have  their  times,  and  that  they  keep  them.  Do  this 
kindly,  gently,  but  firmly.  Interest  others  in  the  work  of 
cooperating  with  you  in  the  change,  and  you  will  find  that 
a  few  hoars'  attention  fo  this  single  field  of  labor — hours, 
too,  which  may  perhaps  be  taken  from  several  successive 
days, — 'you  will  remove  a  mass  of  causes  of  anxiety,  and 
sources  of  uneasiness  and  mental  friction,  which  you  had 
no  idea  existed. 

Perhaps  you  are  the  mistress  of  a  family; — and  some* 
times  you  feel  dejected  and  sad,  you  know  not  why.  It  is 
very  probable  that  it  may  be  because  you  are  unsystematic 
and  irregular  in  your  sphere  of  duty.  Is  your  house  in 
order  ?  Look  around  and  see.  Look  into  your  drawers, 
your  closets,  your  bureaus,  and  imagine  that  a  stranger 
of  distinction,  whose  good  opinion  you  were  desirous  of 
securing,  is  making  the  examination  with  you.  You  may 
perhaps  think  it  strange,  that  such  a  subject  as  order  in 
drawers  and  closets,  should  be  introduced  into  a  book  of 
religious  instruction.  But  do  you  never  consider,  when 
you  tell  your  child  that,  though  he  may  conceal  his  faults 
from  the  eyes  of  man,  he  cannot  conceal  them  from  the 
eye  of  God, — that  the  same  God  sees  very  distinctly,  all 
that  you  would  so  studiously  conceal  from  your  visiters  and 
your  friends  ?  Or  do  you  think  that  you  are  not  responsi- 
ble, for  the  manner  in  which  you  arrange  and  manage  the 
afliairs  of  your  household;  that  domain,  which  God  has  so 
peculiarly  confided  to  you; — or  imagine,  when  you  attempt 
to  conceal  the  evidences  of  untidiness  or  confusion  from 
♦he  eyes  of  men,  that  any  thing  will  do  to  satisfy  God  ? 


CL  3.]  OURSELVES.  91 

Order.  lleview  and  arrangement  of  duties.  feace  of  mind. 

Are  his  idea^  of  order  and  method  less  high,  do  you  sup- 
pose, than  those  of  your  neighbors,  that  you  should  fear 
their  scrutiny  more  than  his  ? 

Put  your  house  in  order.  Not  merely  in  respect  to  its 
arrangement,  but  in  respect  to  all  your  duties,  in  the 
administration  of  your  sacred  trust.  Consider  deliberately, 
in  your  hours  of  retirement,  what  your  duties  are,  and 
arrange  them.  See  that  you  devote  a  proper  portion  of 
time  to  them  all.  Ought  you  to  cultivate  the  morals  of 
your  children  ?'  Then  do  it  regularly,  systematically;  have 
a  plan  for  it.  Ought  you  to  cultivate  your  own  mind.-*  Then 
make  provision  for  this  duty.  Ought  you  to  devote  any 
portion  of  your  time  to  the  occupations  and  pleasures  of 
social  intercourse?  If  so,  understand  distinctly  that  it  is 
your  duty,  and  consider  how  far  it  is  your  duty:  and  make 
specific  provision  for  it.  I  do  not  mean  that  you  are  to 
mark  out  the  hours  of  your  day,  and  allot  to  every  one  its 
prescribed  task,  as  a  school-boy  may  very  properly  do. 
This,  I  well  know,  would  be  impossible,  were  you  to  attempt 
it,  and  would  be  unwise,  were  it  possible.  It  may,  and  in 
fact,  it  ought  to  be  done,  in  respect  to  those  duties  which 
form  a  part  of  the  daily  routine  of  employment,  but  in  re- 
gard to  others,  it  is  neither  possible  nor  wise.  What  I 
mean,  is,  that  the  various  occupations  which  have  a  claim 
upon  you,  should  all  be  examined,  and  that  that  portion 
which  you  ought  to  undertake,  should  be  marked  out  and 
well  defined.  What  comes  within  these  limits  will  be  duty. 
Reduce  then,  to  some  system  and  method,  what  you  ought 
to  do,  and  you  may  proceed  with  your  daily  avocations 
with  a  quiet  and  happy  heart.  Without  it,  you  will  always 
be  restless  and  uneasy.  As  you  walk  about  your  house, 
you  will  continually  find  objects  to  irritate  and  vex  you. 
Your  various  duties  will  jostle  one  another  in  their  rush 
upon  you,  and  in  their  disputes  for  your  attentioii;  and  the 
time  for  attending  to  all  of  them  will  glide  by,  while  you 
are  hearing  their  conflicting  claims.     Thus  many  hours  of 


92  THE    WIY   TO    DO   GOOD.  [Cll.  3. 

Advice  to  a  school-boy.  Desks,  drawers,  implements,  books. 

every  day  will  be  passed  in  useless  indecision,  bringing 
restless  uneasiness  to  the  heart  so  often,  and  continuing  it 
so  long,  that  at  length  this  will  become  its  settled  and  per- 
manent character.  You  try,  you  think,  to  be  faithful, — 
you  certainly  are  hurried  and  busy  enough,  and  you  indulge 
yourself  in  but  little  real  recreation.  Still  you  are  not  suc- 
cessful. Life  does  not  pass  smoothly  with  you.  You  do 
not  accomplish  what  you  wish,  and  what  you  see  some 
others  do  accomplish.  You  are  wretched,  and  yet  you  do 
not  know  why. 

But  perhaps  my  reader  is  a  school-boy,  and  inquires 
how  these  principles  apply  to  his  case.  Put  all  your  busi- 
ness in  order  too.  Look  over  your  affairs,  and  consider 
what  your  duties  and  employments  ought  to  be,  and  see 
that  all  are  properly  arranged  and  systematized.  Have  a 
place,  and  s6e  too  that  it  is  the  best  place,  for  your  hat, 
your  coat,  your  sled,  your  books, — all  your  property  of 
every  kind.  Consider  what  your  daily  work  at  home  is, — 
for  every  boy  ought  to  have  some  daily  responsibility  at 
home, — and  see  whether  you  perform  this  in  the  best  way. 
Make  regular  and  proper  preparations  for  it.  Have  your 
tools  and  implements  in  good  order,  and  arranged  in  the 
most  convenient  places.  See  that  you  do  all  your  work  in 
season,  i.  e.  a  little  before  the  season,  so  as  never  to  be 
hurried,  and  never  to  feel  that  you  are  behind  hand.  See 
that  your  desk  in  school  is  in  good  order, — and  every  thing 
in  it  arranged  in  the  most  convenient  way  for  use,  and  do 
the  same  with  your  shelves  and  drawers  at  home; — so  that 
you  could  go  in  the  dark,  and  find  any  article  in  your  pos- 
session, by  putting  your  hand  where  it  ought  to  be. 

If,  now,  your  habits  are,  in  these  respects,  as  irregular 
and  disorderly  as  those  of  most  boys,  it  will  require  some 
time,  and  not  a  little  faithful,  vigorous  effort,  to  accomplish 
such  a  thorough  revolution  as  is  essential  to  your  happi- 
ness. But  you  may  be  assured  that  such  a  revolution  is 
essential.     While  everything  is  in  confusion, — ^your  books 


Ch.  3.]  OURSELVES.  9^ 

The  man  of  business.  Unsettled  accounts ;  unfinished  plans. 

lost,  your  habits  irregular,  and  your  duties  performed  with- 
out method  and  system,  only  as  they  are  forced  upon  your 
attention,  you  never  can  be  happy.  Unpleasant  associa- 
tions will  be  connected  with  all  you  see.  Almost  every 
object  which  meets  your  eye,  at  school  or  at  home,  will 
remind  you  of  your  remissness  or  neglect, — and  of  the  sad, 
shiftless  condition  of  all  your  affairs.  And  though  you 
may  not  distinctly  think  of  the  cause,  you  will  find  arising 
from  it  a  constant,  restless  uneasiness  of  mind,  which  will 
follow  you  every  where,  and  effectually  destroy  your  hap- 
piness. 

So,  whatever  may  be  the  reader's  situation  and  condition 
in  life,  if  he  wishes  to  be  happy,  let  him  regulate  his  affairs. 
If  you  have  uncertain,  unsettled  accounts  open, — which 
you  have  been  dreading  to  examine,  go  and  explore  the 
cases  thoroughly  and  have  them  closed.  If  there  have 
been  duties  neglected,  which  have  still  been  lying  like  a 
weight  upon  your  mind,  go  and  perform  them  at  once.  If 
there  are  plans  which  you  have  been  intending  to  accom- 
plish, but  which  you  have  been  postponing  and  postponing, 
thinking  of  them  from  time  to  time,  and  saying  to  yourself, 
you  must  attend  to  them, — summon  your  resolution,  and 
carry  them  at  once  into  effect,  or  else  determine  to  aban- 
don them,  and  dismiss  them  from  your  thoughts.  The 
mind  of  a  young  and  ardent  man  becomes  loaded  with 
crude,  half  formed  designs,  unfinished  plans,  and  duties 
postponed.  He  is  like  a  child  unaccustomed  to  the  world, 
who  takes  a  walk  on  a  pleasant  summer's  day.  Every 
object  seems  valuable,  and  he  picks  up  a  pebble  here,  and 
a  stick  there,  and  gathers  a  load  of  great  flowers  in 
this  place  and  that,  until  he  becomes  so  encumbered  with 
his  treasures  that  he  can  hardly  go  on.  They  are  constantly 
slipping  and  dropping  from  his  hands,  and  become  a  source 
of  perplexity  and  anxiety  to  him,  because  he  cannot  retain 
them  alt.  So  with  us.  Every  plan  which  reason  forms  or 
imagination  paints,  we  think  we  must  execute;  but  after 


04  THE    WAY    TO    DO    GOOD.  [Ch.  3. 

Selection  of  objectSi  Expenses  and  pecuniary  liabilities. 

having  made  a  beginning,  a  new  project  enters  our  heads, 
which  we  are  equally  eager  to  secure,  and  thus  in  a  short 
time,  we  become  encumbered  with  a  mass  of  intellectual 

^umber,  which  we  cannot  carry,  and  are  unwilling  to  leave. 

I  Now  look  over  all  these  things, — consider  what  you  can  and 
will  execute,  and  take  hold  of  the  execution  of  them  now. 
Abandon  the  rest,  so  that  you  may  move  forward  with  a 
mind  free  -and  untrammeled.  It  is  the  only  way  by  which 
you  can  enjoy  any  j)eace  oy  ^eret^^ty  of  jnind^Trr^and  without 
peace  and  serenity  the*e^^«an-fee-no^  happiness. 

This,  then,  is  the  second  great  rule  for  securing  personal 
happiness.      Loo^Ljover  j^our    affairs^^  and 

methodize  eyeryjtoig.^  JDefine  in  your  own  mind,  what 
you  have  to  do,  and  dismiss  every  thing  else.  .  Take  time 
for  reflection,  arid  plan  all  your  work  so  as  to  go  on 
smoothly,  quietly  and  in  season,  so  that  the  mind  may  be 
ahead  of  all  its  duties,  choosing  its  own  way,  and  going 

/    foi^ward  quietly  and  in  peace. 

''^  There  is  one  point  in  connection  with  this  subject  of  the 
management  of  wordly  affairs,  which 'ought  not  to  be  pass- 
ed by,  and  which  is  yet  an  indispensable  condition  of  hu- 
man happiness.  I  mean  the  duty  of  every  man  to  bring 
his  expenses,  and  his  pecuniary  liabilities  fairly  within  his 
control.  There  are  some  cases  of  a  peculiar  character, 
and  some  occasional  emergencies,  perhaps,  in  the  life  of 
every  man,  which  constitute  exceptions  ;  but  this  is  the 
general  rule. 

The  pletitifulness  of  money,  depends  upon  its  relation  to 
our  expenditures.  An  English  noblernan,  with  an  annual 
income  of  f  50,000,  may  be  pressed  for  money,  and  be 
harassed  by  it  to  such  a  degree  as  to  make  life  a  burden; 
while  an  Irish  laborer,  on  a  railroad  in  New  England,  with 
eighty  cents  a  day,  in  the  dead  of  winter,  may  have  a  plen- 
tiful supply.  Reduce,  then,  your  expenditures,  and  your 
style  of  living,  and  ijour  business  too,  so  far  below  your 
pecuniary  m«ans,  that  you  may  have  money  in   plenty. 


Ch.  3.]  OURSELVES.  95 

Pecuniary  embarrassment.  Way  to  avoid. 

'here  is,  perhaps,  nothing  which  so  grinds  the  human  soul, 
^and  produces  such  an  insupportable  burden  of  wretched- 
ness and  despondency,  as  pecuniary  pressure.  Nothing- 
more  frequently  drives  men  to  suicide.  And  there  is,  per- 
haps, no  danger  to  which  men  in  an  active  and  enterprising 
community,  are  more  exposed.  Almost  all  are  eagerly 
reaching  forward  to  a  station  in  life,  a  little  above  what 
they  can  well  afford,  or  struggimg  to  do  a  busincaa  a  littlo 
more  extensive  than  they  have  capital  or  steady  credit  for; 
and  thus  they  keep,  all  through  life,  just  above  their 
means; — and  just  above,  no  matter  by  how  small  an  excess, 
is  inevitable  misery. 

Be  sure  then,  if  your  aim  is  happiness,  to  bring  down,  at 
all  hazards,  your  style  of  livmg,  and  your  responsibilities 
of  business,  to  such  a  point  that  you  shall  easily  be  able  to 
reach  it.  Do  this,  I  say,  at  all  hazards.  If  you  cannot 
have  money  enough  for  your  purposes,  in  a  house  with  two. 
rooms,  take  a  house  with  one.  It  is  your  only  chance  for 
happiness.  For  there  is  such  a  thing  as  happiness,  in  a 
single  room,  with  plain  furniture  and  simple  fare;  but  there 
is  no  such  thing  as  happiness,  with  responsibilities  which 
cannot  be  met,  and  debts  increasing,  without  any  prospect 
of  their  discharge.  If  your  object  is  gentility,  or  the  credit 
of  belonging  to  good  society, — or  the  most  rapid  accumu- 
lation of  property,  and  you  are  willing  to  sacrifice  happi- 
ness for  it,  I  might,  perhaps,  give  you  different  advice. 
But  if  your  object  is  happiness,  this  is  the  only  way. 

The  principles  which  we  have  thus  far  laid  down,  as  the 
means  of  attaining  personal  happiness,  relate  to  our  duties 
in  respect,  more  particularly,  to  ourselves.  Our  happiness 
will  depend  very  much  also  upon  the  state  of  our  relations 
with  others.  There  are  certain  principles,  which  must 
regulate  these  relations,  or  we  cannot  enjoy  peace  and 
happiness.  The  other  beings  with  whom  we  h.ave  chiefly 
to  do,  are  our  fellow  men  and  God,  and  by  our  feelings 
and  conduct  towards  both,  we  often  mar  and  poison  our 
own  enjoyment. 


98  THE   WAY    TO    DO    GOOD.  [Ch.  3. 

Contentions.  The  Christian  principle.  Conflicting  claims. 

1.  By  contentions  with  the  injustice  and  selfishness  of 
men;  ant), 

2.  By  struggling  and  repining  against  the  Providence  of 
God. 

We  must  devote  a  few  pages  to  each  of  these  subjects. 

1.  Contentions  with  men. 

Christianity  makes  the  human  soul  unyielding,  uncom* 
jj^dmiffluig,  firm  even  unto  death,  in  a  matter  of  principle 
or  duty:  but  the  very  reverse  in  all  respects,  in  a  matter 
of  personal  interest.  Some  Christians,  however,  are  as 
strenuous  in  maintaining  every  tittle  of  their  rights,  from 
their  neighbors  and  business  connections,  as  the  most  hard 
hearted,  usurious  creditor  is,  in  exacting  the  uttermost 
farthing.  It  is  true  tjiat  they  endeavor  to  draw  the  line 
correctly,  between  their  neighbors'  interests  and  their  own, 
but  then  they  take  their  stand  upon  this  line,  with  the  de- 
termination of  a  soldier,  and  resolve  that  as  they  will  not 
themselves  encroach,  so  they  will  not  submit  to  encroach- 
ment. 

Now  this  principle  might  not  lead  to  any  difficulty  in-a 
world  not  fallen,  but  it  will  not  do  here.  Intermingled,  as 
are  all  the  various  interests  of  the  community,  and  biassed 
as  every  man's  view  is,  in  respect  to  his  own,  it  is  impossi- 
ble to  ascertain  where  these  exact  boundaries  are,  which 
separate  ''the  mine"  from  "the  thine."  The  vision  is 
affected  by  the  disordered  state  of  the  moral  affections,  so 
that  men  see  differently,  even  what  they  wish  to  see  as  it  is; 
and  if  all  men  are  therefore  to  adopt  it  as  a  principle,  that 
they  will  adhere  firmly  to  every  thing  which  they  honestly 
believe  to  be  their  rights,  they  must  be  continually  coming 
into  collision. 

Thus,  any  man  who  will  look  fairly  at  the  condition  of 
human  nature,  will  see  the  necessity  of  mutual  forbearance 
and  concession.  But  all  doubt  in  respect  to  duty  on  this 
subject,  is  put  at  rest  by  our  Savior's  explicit  instructions. 
Let  those  of  my  readers  who  are  accustomed  to  look  upon 


Ch.  3.]  OURSELVES.  97 

Non-resistance,  Isaac's  principle. 

firmness  in  the  maintenance  of  our  own  interests,  as  a 
duty,  consider  the  following  words  of  our  Savior,  and  ask 
what  they  mean. 

'•'  I  say  unto  you,  that  ye  resist  not  evil;  but  whosoever 
shall  smite  thee  on  thy  right  cheek,  turn  to  him  the  other 
also.  And  if  any  man  will  sue  thee  at  the  law,  and  take 
away  thy  coat,  let  him  have  thy  cloak  also.  And  whoso- 
ever shall  compel  thee  to  go  a  mile,  go  with  him  twain.' 

Are  these  now  really  the  words  of  Jesus  Christ .?  And, 
if  so,  what  do  they  mean  ?  I  admit,  that  they  are  figura- 
tive. I  admit,  also,  that  the  sentiment  they  contain,  is 
very  strongly  expressed.  The  more  strongly,  probably, 
in  order  that  it  might  stand  in  a  more  striking  contrast  with 
the  general  sentiment  of  the  day,  which  our  Savior  was 
endeavoring  to  correct.  Still,  they  must  have  a  meaning; 
they  must  be  intended  to  convey  a  sentiment,  and  it  is  utter- 
ly impossible  to  derive  any  meaning  from  language,  unless 
the  speaker  intended  here  to  teach,  that  his  followers  must 
not  be  engaged  in  quarrels  to  maintain  their  own  personal 
interests  and  rights.  So  far  at  least,  the  meaning  of  the 
passage  is  clear;  and  Christians  ought  to  obey  the  pre- 
cept. If  there  is  a  quarrel  about  the  well  you  have  dug, 
go,  like  Isaac,  and  dig  another;  and  if  this  becomes  the  sub- 
ject of  contention,  go  and  dig  a  third.  Isaac's  father,  too, 
understood  the  Christian  way  of  settling  disputes.  '*  You 
may  take  the  left  hand,  and  I  will  take  the  right,  or  you 
may  take  the  right  hand,  and  I  will  take  the  left.  Is  not 
the  whole  land  before  thee  ?" 

But,  says  some  reader,  accustomed  to  the  doctrine  and 
practice  of  self-defence,  such  a  principle  will  leave  every 
man  in  the  state  of  the  most  complete  exposure  to  every 
species  of  injustice  and  oppression;  and  will  make  him  a 
prey  to  the  passions  and  the  avarice  of  a  selfish  world. 

To  which  I  answer,  that  the  principle  is  a  principle  of 
Jesus  Christ's, — plain,  unquestionable;    and,   if  any  man 
thinks  that  some  other  principle  is  a  better  and  safer  one 
9 


98  THE   WAY   TO    DO    GOOD.  [Ch.  3. 

Effects  ofopposition  and  contention.  Defencelessnesa.  The  Indian. 

for  men  to  adopt,  there  is  a  difference  of  opinion  on  the 
point,  between  him  and  his  Master;  and  though  he  is  per- 
fectly at  liberty  to  pursue  his  own  course,  if  he  chooses, 
he  cannot  pursue  it,  and  yet  pretend  to  be  a  follower  of  the 
Savior. 

But  it  is  not  so.  Jesus  Christ  understood  human  nature, 
and  the  influence  and  operation  of  moral  causes,  better 
than  the  shrewd,  suspicious,  watchful,  and  ardent  defender 
of  his  rights.  Any  intelligent  observer  of  facts  will  soon 
come  to  the  conclusion,  that  he  who  will  not  quarrel  for  his 
rights,  has  his  rights  most  respected,  as  he  who  is  unarmed 
and  will  not  fight,  is  safest  from  the  hand  of  violence, — 
and  every  one  who  really  understands  human  nature,  will 
see  that  it  always  must  be  the  case.  It  results  from  two 
causes. 

I  say  that  the  safety  of  a  man,  who  will  not  quarrel  for  his 
personal  rights,  results  from  two  causes.  First,  it  disarms 
his  enemies.  Contentions  and  quarrels  acquire  nearly  all 
their  acrimony,  from  the  influence  which  each  combatant 
exerts  upon  the  other,  by  their  mutual  and  reciprocal  hos- 
tility. Opposition  inflames  and  increases  the  ardor  and  the 
fierceness  of  the  attack.  The  conscience  of  the  aggressor 
is  really  quieted  a  little  by  the  thought  that  an  antagonist 
is  prepared  for  defence.  The  most  blood-thirsty  duellist 
could  not  level  his  pistol,  unless  his  enemy  held  a  pistol 
too.  He  could  not  do  it;  and  almost  universally,  the  vio- 
lent and  the  oppressive  will  be  disarmed  by  the  quietness, 
and  peacefulness  of  the  true  Christian  spirit.  The  worst 
men  will  feel  the  influence  of  it;  as  the  Indian  who  stood 
with  his  tomahawk  over  the  defenceless  missionary,  sleep- 
ing in  his  wigwam,  said,  after  gazing  upon  him  in  wonder, 
at  his  voluntary  exposure,  *'  Why  should  I  kill  him  .'"'  So, 
in  commanding  men  to  live  in  peace, — not  to  resist  evil, — 
or  quarrel  for  their  rights,  Jesus  Christ  showed,  that  he 
understood  better  than  we  generally  do,  the  secrect  springs 


Ch.  3.]  OURSELVES. 


An  objection.  The  question  of  war. 

of  human  action,  and  the  principles  by  which  human  nature 
is  controlled.* 

The  minds  of  such  of  my  readers,  as  are  not  quite  ready 
to  adopt  these  views,  have,  undoubtedly,  been  busy,  while 
reading  these  paragraphs,  in  calling  up  cases  where  those 
who  were  known  not  to  contend,  and  who  were,  conse- 
quently, in  the  attitude  of  the  unarmed  and  the  defenceless, 
have  suffered,  and  suffered  severely. 

They  will  say  that  defencelessness  is  not  always  safety, — 
that,  though  the  duellist  will  not  fire  upon  an  unarmed 
man,  yet  the  assassin  will,  and  that  the  peaceful  and  the 
unoffending  are  often  thus  a  prey  to  secret  injustice  or 
oppression.  This  is  true,  no  doubt.  And  the  question  is 
not,  how  can  a  man  escape  all  injustice,  in  such  a  world  as 
this,  and  avoid  every  wrong  ;  this  is  impossible.  The 
question  is,  in  what  way  will  he  escape  the  most  of  it  ? 
The  mind  should  be  busy,  therefore,  not  in  looking  for 
cases  where  the  peaceful  have  suffered,  but  in  considering 
which  avoid  the  most  suffering  from  the  injustice  and  sel- 
fishness of  men,  the  peaceful  or  the  pugnacious.  We  will 
abide  by  the  result  of  any  intelligent  and  honest  observer's 
opinion. 

But  this  brings  us  to  consider  the  second  ground  of 
safety,  for  those  who  will  not  quarrel  for  their  rights.  The 
determination  that  they  will  not  quarrel,  makes  them  more 
circumspect  and  careful  in  avoiding  all  occasion  for  disa- 

♦  We  do  not  mean  to  apply  these  remarks  to  the  forcible  execution  of  the 
laws,  by  the  proper  authorities,  nor  to  the  question  of  defensive  war,  in  the 
case  of  a  foreign  invasion.  The  precepts  of  our  Savior  to  which  we  have 
alluded,  were  undoubtedly  given  with  principal  reference  to  the  condition  of 
private  Christians,  in  their  intercourse  with  ordinary  society.  Did  he  mean 
to  extend  them  to  such  a  case  as  the  onset  of  a  savage,  foreign  soldiery, 
upon  a  peaceful  community,  defenceless  except  by  force  1  The  manner  in 
which  Abraham's  promptness  in  interfering  without  divine  direction,  for  the 
rescue  of  Lot,  by  military  force,  is  spoken  of,  and  the  directions  given  by 
John  the  Baptist  to  the  soldiers,  who  came  to  hear  him,  and  other  eimilai- 
passages  in  the  Scriptures,  render  the  answer  to  this  question,  at  least, 
doubtful. 


lOQ  THE    WAY   TO   DO   GOOD.  [Ch.  S, 

Occasions  of  contention.      Case  supposed.      The  travellers  and  their  guide. 

greement.  Nine  tenths  of  the  disagreements  among  men, 
in  respect  to  personal  rights,  arise  from  vagueness  and 
indefiniteness  in  original  arrangements,  which  might  have 
been  avoided  at  the  proper  time ;  and  when  a  man  adopts 
the  principle  that  he  will  not  contend,  he  soon  learns  to  be 
distinct  and  de5nite  in  all  his  business,  and  thus  avoids, 
by  prudent  forecast,  nearly  all  the  ordinary  occasions  of 
contention.  He  makes  all  his  bargains  and  all  his  agree- 
ments with  the  utmost  clearness  and  precision.  If  a  cer- 
tain neighbor  of  his  is  quarrelsome,  and  unreasonable,  he 
treats  him  with  kindness  and  friendliness, — but  he  deals 
with  another  man.  When  a  case  occurs  by  which  his 
interests  and  rights  are  endangered,  instead  of  working 
himself  into  a  passion,  in  his  zeal  to  maintain  them,  in  the 
particular  instance,  he  calmly  examines  the  case,  to  see 
how  he  might  have  avoided  the  difficulty,  and  deduces  from 
it  a  valuable  principle  for  future  guidance. 

To  illustrate  what  I  mean,  let  us  take  a  very  simple 
case;  two  pedestrian  travellers  in  Switzerland,  of  narrow 
finances,  engage  a  guide  at  the  foot  of  a  mountain,  to  con- 
duct them  to  its  summit.  On  their  return,  they  ask  for  his 
charge,  and  find  it  double  what  they  think  it  ought  to  be. 
The  explanation  of  this  diversity  is  this.  All  the  way  up 
and  down  the  mountain,  the  guide  has  been  thinking  of  his 
remuneration,  and  wondering  what  it  will  probably  be. 
Personal  interest  has  been  pleading  all  the  way,  for  a  large 
reward.  His  difficulties,  his  fatigues,  his  dangers,  have  all 
been  exaggerated,  and  his  ideas  of  a  suitable  reward,  have 
been  rising,  and  rising,  until  at  length  h6  reaches  again 
the  village  whence  the  expedition  commenced,  when  they 
stand  at  a  level  considerably  elevated  above  the  proper 
point.  It  must  necessarily  be  so,  for  before  the  court  of 
his  conscience,  only  one  side  of  the  question  has  been 
argued.  In  other  words,  there  has  been  nothing  to  deter- 
mifie  and  fix  his  ideas,  and  they  have  been  operated  upon 
by  forces,  acting  wholly  in  one  direction. 


Ch.  3.]  OURSELVES.  101 

The  Christian  principle.  The  worldly  principle. 

With  his  employers,  the  case  has  been  just  the  reverse; 
and  they  descend  the  hill,  with  their  ideas  settled  at  a 
point  as  much  too  low,  as  their  attendant's  are  too  high, 
and  when  they  attempt  a  settlement,  they  find  themselves 
separated  by  a  considerable  chasm. 

Now  A,  acting  on  the  worldly  principle,  immediately  falls 
into  a  dispute.  Though  he  is  himself  as  much  in  the 
wrong  as  the  mountaineer,  he  sees  distinctly  the  bias  of 
the  latter,  but  is  utterly  insensible  to  his  own.  Hard 
words  and  irritated  feelings  grow  worse  and  worse,  until, 
after  some  sort  of  forced  adjustment,  they  separate  in  anger. 

But  B,  acting  on  the  Christian  principle,  retreats  from 
the  debatable  ground.  He  sees  that  this  debatable 
ground  is  a  region  of  uncertainty,  between  what  is  the 
least  which  they  themselves  consider  to  be  due,  and  the 
greatest  which  the  guide  can  with  any  plausibility  claim; 
and  that  probably  the  line  of  justice  lies  somewhere  within 
it,  at  a  place  not  easily  to  be  ascertained;  and  he  accor- 
dingly retreats  from  the  whole  ground.  He  perceives  that 
he  ought  not  to  have  left  room  for  such  a  region  of  uncer- 
tainty, and,  as  he  pays  the  money  pleasantly,  he  says  to 
himself,  "  I  might  have  known  it  would  be  so.  We  should 
have  defined  our' mutual  claims  beforehand." 

This  is  a  very  simple  case,  but  it  shows  the  principle  on 
which  an  immense  proportion  of  contentions  and  quarrels 
among  men,  arise, — just  as  the  little  currents  of  air  over  a 
heated  iron  plate,  on  the  table  of  the  lecturer,  exhibit  the 
principles  by  which  all  the  storms  and  tempests,  which 
sweep  over  oceans  and  continents,  are  controlled. 

It  is  thus.  In  the  various  relations  which  men  sustam 
to  one  another,  their  respective  rights  cannot  always  be 
specified  with  exactness.  There  is  between  what  is  clear- 
ly the  right  of  the  first  party,  on  the  one  side,  and  what  is, 
on  the  other,  clearly  the  right  of  the  second, — a  sort  of 
intermediate  region  of  doubtful  character,  so  that  it  is, 
claimed  by  each,  the  judgment  of  each  being  warped  a 
9* 


102  THE    WAY    TO    DO   GOOD.  [Ch.  3, 

Way  in  -which  quarrels  originate.  Our  Savior's  precept. 

little  by  his  feelings.  So  that  in  almost  all  the  connections 
of  business,  between  man  and  man,  their  mutual  claims 
overlap  each  other,  as  it  were,  a  little,  and  it  is  in  this  dis- 
puted and  doubtful  territory,  that  almost  all  the  streams  of 
discord  and  contention  take  their  rise.  Now  the  Christian 
will  avoid  this  ground.  He  will  generally  set  up  no  claim 
to  it.  He  will  endeavor,  by  wise  and  prudent  forecast  and 
circumspection,  to  make  it  as  narrow  as  possible,  so  as  to 
leave  as  little  room  as  possible  for  uncertainty;  but  when 
such  ground  is  left,  he  knows  very  well  that  the  selfish 
shrewdness  of  the  one  he  deals  with,  will  lead  him  to  reach 
his  arm  over  to  the  further  boundary  of  it;  and,  unless  in 
some  very  peculiar  case,  he  will  retreat  at  once  to  that 
boundary,  and  make  no  serious  attempts  to  secure  any 
thing,  but  what  is  most  unquestionably  his. 

It  is  a  good  plan,  whenever  any  subject  of  difference 
seems  to  be  coming  up,  between  you  and  any  man  with 
whom  you  have  dealings,  for  you  to  go  over  in  imagination, 
as  it  were,  to  his  side,  and  try  for  a  moment  to  look  at  it  as 
he  does; — not  as  he  ought  to  look  at  it,  but  as  you  know 
he  will, — possessing  as  he  does,  the  usual  feelings  of  hu- 
man nature.  Now  the  encroachment  on  our  rights,  which 
men  of  the  world  are  thus  likely  to  make,  will  only  in  gen- 
eral extend  over  the  uncertain  territory,  which,  compared 
with  the  whole  amount,  will,  with  ordinary  discretion,  be 
usually  very  small,  and  it  is  generally  best  for  the  Christian 
to  abandon  it  altogether. 

"  If  any  man  will  sue  thee  at  the  law,  and  take  away 
thy  coat,  let  him  have  thy  cloak  also."  This  may  not  mean 
that  we  are  never,  in  any  case,  to  contend  for  our  rights,  but 
it  certainly  does  mean  that  we  are  very  seldom  to  do  it. 
It  teaches  that,  at  least  as  a  general  principle.  Christians 
are  to  be  content  with  what  they  can  get  peaceably.  What 
we  cannot  secure  without  quarrelling  for  it,  we  must  be 
willing  to  lose.  If  we  determine  beforehand  to  act  upon 
this  principle,  we  shall  plan  accordingly.     We  shall  not 


Ch.  3.]  OURSELVES.  105 

Misery  of  contention.  Way  to  avoid  it; 

expose  ourselves,  and  in  the  end  shall  prosper  as  much,  as 
the  most  sturdy  and  determined  vindicator  of  his  rights, 
who  makes  it  his  motto,  never  to  demand  more  than  he  is 
entitled  to,  and  never  to  take  less. 

But  we  seem  to  be  considering  the  duty  of  not  quarrel- 
ling, whereas  our  subject  in  this  chapter,  is  not  duty,  but 
happiness.  We  should,  therefore,  rather  be  attempting  to 
show  the  necessity  of  peace  with  our  fellow  men,  in  order 
to  secure  our  own  enjoyment.  Though  this  scarcely  needs 
to  be  shown.  A  man  cannot  be  happy,  while  engaged 
in  a  quarrel.  The  rising  feelings  of  indignation  against 
injustice,  are  misery  to  the  heart  which  feels  them, — and 
so  are  the  whole  class  of  angry,  and  irritated,  and  vexa- 
tious feelings,  about  the  misconduct  or  petty  faults  of 
others.  Never  yield  to  them.  Expect  often  to  find  men 
selfish  and  blind  to  the  interests  and  rights  of  others,  and 
make  it  a  part  of  your  regular  calculation  to  experience 
inconvenience  from  this  source.  Then  you  will  not  be 
surprised  or  vexed,  when  this  inconvenience  comes.  Ac- 
custom yourself  to  look  upon  your  neighbors'  side  of  the 
question,  as  well  as  your  own.  Be  desirous  that  he  should 
do  well  and  prosper,  as  well  as  you.  In  all  your  agree- 
ments, be  clear  and  specific  beforehand,  as  you  certainly 
would  be,  if  you  knew  that  every  thing  left  indefinite,  would 
go  in  the  end  against  you.  Where  any  question  arises 
between  you  and  another,  lean  towards  his  rights  and  in- 
terests. With  all  your  efforts  in  that  way,  you  will  not 
more  than  overcome  your  natural  bias  in  favor  of  your  own. 
If  there  is  any  doubt,  then,  give  your  neighbor  the  benefit 
of  it, — any  ambiguity,  interpret  in  his  favor.  This  will  be 
the  best  way  to  preserve  your  rights  most  effectually;  but 
if  you  do  not  think  so,  if  you  fear  this  course  will  lose 
something  of  your  rights,  you  must  admit  that  it  is  the  way 
to  preserve  your  peace  and  happiness. 

2.  There  was  one  other  point  to  consider,  before  bring- 
ing this  chapter  to  a  close,  namely,  the  extent  to  which 


104                                  THE   WAY   TO   DO    GOOD. 

[Ch.  3. 

Repining  against  God.                           Losses. 

Disappointments. 

men  mar  and  destroy  their  happiness,  by  struggling  and 
repining  against  the  Providence  of  God.  Whatever  hap- 
pens to  you,  if  it  is  not  the  direct  consequence  of  your  own 
personal  misconduct,  comes  through  the  Providence  of 
God,  and  you  ought  to  feel  that  he  has  sent  it.  Is  your 
child  sick?  that  sickness  comes  from  his  hand.  Is  your 
house,  which  you  have  earned  by  slowly  accumulating  the 
fruits  of  your  industry  for  years,  burned  by  the  carelessness 
of  a  domestic,  or  the  malice  of  an  incendiary.  It  is  the 
same  to  you,  as  if  it  had  been  struck  by  the  lightning  of 
heaven;  the  loss,  in  either  case,  comes  in  the  Providence 
of  God,  and  you  should  no  more  make  yourself  miserable, 
by  angry  resentment  against  the  domestic  or  the  incendiary, 
than  against  the  lightning. 

Do  you  experience  a  heavy  loss  in  your  business,  by  the 
fraud  or  the  negligence  of  a  creditor.  Bear  it  patiently 
and  submissively  as  from  God.  It  is  from  God.  If  you 
have  done  all  in  your  power,  by  prudent  circumspection,  to 
guard  against  the  danger,  then  you  are  not  yourself  respon- 
sible for  it,  and  you  should  not  repine,  any  more  than  a 
child  should  murmur  at  the  loss  of  a  plaything,  when  his 
father  has  sent  his  brother  or  sister  to  take  it  away. 

Many  people  think  they  have  a  right  to  murmur,  and 
make  themselves  miserable,  at  acts  of  injustice  which  they 
suffer  from  others.  They  feel  as  if  they  ought  to  submit 
pleasantly  and  quietly  to  those  ills,  which  come  more 
directly  through  the  exercise  of  Divine  Power,  as  when 
a  ship  is  lost  by  a  storm  at  sea,  or  sudden  disease  arising 
from  no  perceptible  cause,  attacks  them,  or  when  their 
business  and  their  property  is  sacrificed  by  the  progress  of 
a  pestilence,  or  unaccountable  changes  in  the  times.  But 
when  they  can  trace  calamity,  in  the  first  instance,  to  the 
agency  of  a  fellow  man,  they  are  disturbed,"  and  irritated, 
and  vexed,  as  if  God  had  nothing  to  do  with  it  whatever. 
But  the  agency  of  God  has  as  much  concern  in  one  of  these 
cases,  as  in  the  other.     He  has  as  much  control  over  the 


If 

;     Ch.  3.]  OURSELVES.  105 

Joseph's  case.  Lesson  to  be  learned  from  it. 

actions  and  feelings  of  your  fellow  men,  and  regulates  as 
certainly  the  treatment  you  are  to  receive  from  them,  as 
he  does  the  force  of  winds  and  storms,  the  progress  of  a 
pestilence,  or  the  track  of  the  lightning.  When  Joseph 
was  let  down  in  the  pit  by  his  brethren,  he  was  as  much  in 
God's  hands,  as  was  Jonah  in  the  storm  at  sea.  So  Jesus 
Christ  when  scourged  and  crucified,  bowed  with  submis- 
sion to  his  sorrows,  as  to  sorrows  and  sufferings  brought 
upon  him  by  his  Father's  hand. 

Take  the  case  of  Joseph  for  instance.  Suppose  he  could 
have  foreseen  how  his  history  was  to  terminate,  and  what 
would  be  the  ultimate  result  of  his  trials  and  sufferings,  in 
respect  to  their  mfluence  upon  the  posterity  of  his  father, 
and  upon  those  who  should  read  the  narrative  of  them,  in 
the  word  of  God,  in  all  future  ages.  How  would  he  have 
felt,  when  his  brothers  sold  him  into  bondage,  to  the  wan- 
dering sons  of  Ishmael  }  Would  he  have  been  irritated 
and  vexed,  and  would  he  have  gone  away  into  captivity, 
with  a  heart  boiling  with  rage,  at  the  injustice  and  cruelty 
of  his  brothers?  No;  he  would  have  felt  a  calm  and  happy 
acquiescence  in  the  will  of  God.  He  would  have  felt  himself 
entirely  in  the  hands  of  his  Father,  who  would  brmg  ulti- 
mate and  lasting  good  out  of  his  temporary  sufferings.  And 
so  will  the  Christian  always  feel,  if  he  feels  right.  He  will 
carry  about  with  him  continually,  the  conviction  that  he  is, 
in  every  respect,  in  God's  hands, — that  nothing  comes  to 
him  but  in  the  providence  and  as  a  part  of  the  plan  of  God 
towards  him, — and  while  he  takes  every  precaution  to 
guard  himself  from  evil  and  danger,  yet,  when  it  will  come, 
whether  it  be  through  the  wickedness  of  man,  or  more 
apparently  through  the  direct  agency  of  God,  he  submits 
to  it  calmly  and  with  an  unruffled  spirit.  Unless  a  man 
takes  this  view  of  the  occurrences  of  human  life,  his  happi- 
ness can  never  be  on  any  sure  and  solid  basis,  in  such  a 
world  as  ours. 
f      Perhaps,  the  most   common  way  in   which   Christiana 


106  THE    WAY    TO    DO    GOOD.  [Ch.  3. 

Purposes  of  sickness.  The  sick  mother. 

struggle  against  the  Providence  of  God,  is,  in  the  case  I 
have  alluded  to,  where  petty  trouble  or  serious  calamity 
comes  through  the  agency  of  man.  We  forget  in  such 
cases,  that  so  far  as  we  ourselves  are  concerned,  the  trial 
comes  as  really  in  the  providence  of  God,  as  in  any  case 
whatever.  It  is  remarkable,  however,  that  there  is  one 
case  of  suffering,  which  most  plainly  comes  from  God,  and 
from  him  alone,  and  which  Christians  are  very  slow  to  sub- 
mit to.  I  mean  sickness, — our  own  sickness,  or  that  of 
our  friends.  How  few  there  are  who  do  not  in  heart  strug 
gle  against  their  Maker,  when  he  comes  and  places  them, 
or  their  friends,  upon  a  bed  of  suffering.  But  sickness 
really  comes  from  God.  We  must  admit  this,  at  least  in 
those  cases  of  disease  which  cannot  be  traced  to  impru- 
dences or  indulgences  of  our  own.  If  We  feel  this,  one 
would  think  that  we  should  yield  to  it  submissively,  and 
bear  it  patiently.  Suppose  you  take  your  child  from  some 
work  or  play,  in  which  he  is  interested,  and  ask  him  to 
come  and  sit  down  by  your  side,  while  you  speak  to  him 
upon  some  important  subject.  Instead  of  giving  up  the 
thoughts  of  his  former  employment,  and  listening  attentive- 
ly to  what  you  have  to  say,  he  looks  eagerly  and  anxiously 
away  from  you,  watching  his  companions,  and  evidently 
longing  to  be  restored  to  them.  You  reprove  him  very 
justly  for  his  inattention,  and  his  evident  eagerness  to  be 
released  from  your  hold. 

But  now  come  with  me  to  this  sick  chamber.  There  lies 
upon  that  bed,  the  mother  of  a  family,  removed  from  the 
scene  of  her  labors  and  enjoyments,  and  laid  in  helpless 
inaction  upon  her  pillow.  Who  has  placed  her  there  .'' 
God.  For  what  ?  Because  he  has  something  to  say  to 
her.  Is  not  sickness  a  providence,  that  is  intended  to 
speak  to  the  soul  .'*  But,  instead  of  lying  quietly  resigned 
to  God's  will,  and  listening  patiently  to  his  voice,  her  heart 
is  filled  with  eager  impatience  to  be  restored  to  her  family. 
She  thinks  how  many  things  are  going  wrong, — how  many 


Ch.  3.]  OURSELVES.  107 

The  man  of  business.  The  sick  child. 

interests  will  suffer, — how  much  will  be  neglected,  while 
she  lies  helpless  in  her  bed.  But  oh,  thou  impatient 
mother,  remember,  that  He  who  brings  sickness,  is  to  be 
considered  as  bringing  every  evil,  which  necessarily  follows 
in  its  train.  If  you  repine,  then,  or  murmur  at  any  of  the 
inevitable  consequences  of  your  removal  from  the  scene  of 
your  labors,  you  are  in  heart  struggling  against  God.  So 
with  the  man  of  business.  No  matter  what  inconvenience, 
or  what  losses  come  upon  him,  in  consequence  of  sickness. 
He  ought  not  to  walk  his  room  with  anxious  impatience, 
nor  look  forth  from  his  window  sighing  to  be  free  again. 
He  ought  to  feel  that  when  God  shuts  him  up  from  his  daily 
duties,  that  he  takes  upon  himself  the  responsibility  of  it. 
Whatever  losses  he  suffers  come  from  him.  It  is  his  duty 
to  be  resigned,  and  to  listen  patiently  to  what  God  has  to 
say  to  him,  in  his  silent  and  solitary  chamber. 

Perhaps  the  very  object,  for  which  the  sickness  was  seht, 
is  to  teach  you  resignation  to  the  divine  will.  Perhaps  God 
has  seen  in  your  conduct,  a  dissatisfied  and  repining  spirit, 
awakened  by  a  thousand  little  circumstances,  which  are 
beyond  your  control,  and  which  you  therefore  ought  to 
consider  as  ordered  by  Providence.  Now  perhaps  God  has 
brought  sickness  upon  you,  for  the  sake  of  removing  this 
fault.  How  admirably  is  it  calculated  to  produce  this  ef- 
fect. How  irresistibly  must  a  man  feel  that  a  very  strong 
hand  is  over  him,  when  he  is  taken  from  his  sphere,  and 
laid  down  upon  his  bed, — all  his  plans  suspended,  or  de- 
stroyed,— and  no  human  power  capable  of  restoring  him 
to  activity  again.  Oh,  one  would  think,  if  man  could  learn 
submission  any  where,  it  is  here. 

The  same  principles  of  duty  should  govern  us  in  witness- 
ing the  sickness  of  a  friend;  and  of  all  cases,  the  sickness 
of  a  child,  is  the  one  against  which  we  are  the  most  likely 
to  struggle.  There  are  thousands  of  parents  professedly 
Christians,  whose  lives  are  imbittered,  and  whose  peace 
and   happiness  is    destroyed,  because  they  cannot  really 


103  THE    WAY  TO    DO    GOOD.  [Ch.    3. 

Duty  of  submission.  The  responsibility  of  the  decision. 

trust  their  children  in  the  hands  of  God.  Every  little  sick- 
ness alarms  them, — every  precaution,  whether  suggested 
by  reason  or  imagination  is  taken,  and  the  mind  is  full  of 
restless,  unsubmissive  fears,  as  if  they  were  under  the 
dominion  of  a  tyrant.  Now  there  is  a  certain  degree  of 
ordinary  prudence  and  caution  to  be  observed,  and  in  case 
of  sickness,  there  is  medical  skill,  which  to  a  certain  extent, 
may  modify  or  change  results.  But  after  all,  these  precau- 
tions and  this  aid  will  go  but  a  very  little  way.  The  invasions 
of  disease,  especially  in  children,  are  far  less  dependent 
on  circumstances  within  our  control  than  is  often  supposed. 
The  development  of  hereditary  tendencies,  the  mysterious 
influences  of  atmospheric  changes,  and  a  thousand  combi- 
nations of  causes  and  circumstances,  not  to  be  controlled, 
produce  them;  and  when  they  come,  all  we  have  to  do  is 
quietly  and  calmly  to  pursue  the  course  which  seems  best 
adapted  to  promote  restoration.  As  to  the  responsibility 
for  the  result,  we  throw  ourselves  on  God;  and  let  him  do 
just  as  he  pleases. 

Suppose,  now,  there  should  be  a  mother,  always  uneasy 
and  solicitous  about  her  child,  when  it  was  in  health,  or 
.sitting  over  it,  when  in  sickness,  restless  and  anxious,  try- 
ing this  remedy  and  that,  without  reason  and  without  hope, 
just  because  she  cannot  give  him  up; — suppose,  I  say,  that 
God  should  come  to  the  bedside,  and  say  to  her,  "Anxious 
mother,— I  was  taking  charge  of  your  child,  but  since  you 
are  so  restless  and  uneasy  about  it,  I  will  give  the  case  up 
to  you,  if  you  will  take  it.  There  is  a  great  question  to  be 
decided; — shall  that  child  recover,  or  die  ?  I  was  going  to 
decide  it  in  the  best  way  for  yourself  and  him.  But  since 
you  cannot  trust  me,  you  may  decide  it  yourself.  Look 
upon  him,  then,  as  he  lies  there  suffering,  and  then  look 
forward  as  far  as  you  can  into  futurity, — see  as  much  as 
you  can  of  his  life  here,  if  you  allow  him  to  live;  and  look 
forward  to  eternity, — to  his  eternity  and  yours.  Get  all 
the  light  you  can,  and  then  tell  me  whether  you  are  really 


Ch.  3.]  OURSELVES.  109 

The  motlier  and  the  sick  chiW.  Restless  repining. 

ready  to  take  the  responsibility  of  deciding  the  question; 
whether  he  shall  live  or  die.  Since  you  are  not  willing  to 
allow  me  to  decide  it,  I  will  leave  you  to  decide  it  yourself." 

What  would  be  the  feelings  of  a  mother,  if  God  should 
thus  withdraw  from  the  sick  bed  of  her  child,  and  leave  the 
responsibility  of  the  case  in  her  hands  alone.  Who  would 
dare  to  exercise  the  power,  if  the  power  were  given,  or  say 
to  a  dying  child,  "you  shall  live,  and  on  me  shall  be  the 
responsibility. '"*  Then  let  us  all  leave  God  to  decide.  Let 
us  be  wise,  and  prudent,  and  faithful,  in  all  our  duties,  but 
never,  for  a  moment,  indulge  in  an  anxious  thought; — it  is 
rebellion.  Let  us  rather  throw  ourselves  on  God.  Let  us 
say  to  him,  that  we  do  not  know  what  is  best,  either  for  us, 
or  our  children,  and  ask  him  to  do  with  us  just  as  he  pleases. 
Then  we  shall  be  at  peace  at  all  times, — when  disease 
makes  its  first  attack, — when  the  critical  hours  approach, 
by  which  the  question  of  life  or  death  is  to  be  decided,  and 
even  when  the  last  night  of  the  little  patient's  suffering 
has  come,  and  we  see  the  vital  powers  gradually  sinking, 
m  their  fearful  struggle  with  death. 

Besides,  were  it  not  so  much  pleasanter.and  happier  for 
us  to  submit  cheerfully  to  God,  it  would  be  the  height  of 
folly  to  do  otherwise.  Suppose  that  God  has  decided  that 
it  is  best  for  your  child  to  die, — and  has  come  into  your 
family,  and  laid  it  upon  its  bed,  and  has  admitted  a  fatal  dis- 
ease into  its  system,  which  is  busy  at  its  sad  work  upon  the 
vital  powers  there.  Can  you  change  his  purpose,  do  you 
think,  by  restlessness  and  repining  and  rebellious  anxiety 
about  it?  No.  That  is  the  very  best  thing  you  can  do 
to  accelerate  the  blow.  Perhaps  your  want  of  submission 
to  God,  is  the  reason  why  it  is  sent,  and  by  indulging  such 
a  feeling,  you  only  demonstrate  more  fully  the  necessity  of 
the  moral  remedy  you  fear.  It  is  a  moral  remedy,  and 
God  will  never  be  deterred  from  administering  a  medicine 
on  account  of  the  impatience  or  resistance  of  the  one  who 
needs  it.  No.  The  wisest  and  best  thing  we  can  do,  when 
10 


I 


1 10  THE    WAY   TO    DO    GOOD.  [Ch.  4. 

Summary  of  the  chapter.  Common  idea  of  giving  to  the  poor. 

we  see  God  approaching  us  with  a  bitter  cup,  is  calmly 
and  submissively  to  take  it  from  his  hands,  and  drink  it  up. 
If  he  perceives  this  feeling,  he  will  administer  the  draught 
with  so  much  tender  kindness  that  it  will  lose  half  its  power. 
The  sum  and  substance  then,  of  our  directions  for  se- 
curing personal  happiness  in  this  world,  is  this:  Make  your 
peace  thoroughly  with  God,  —  regulate  all  your  worldly 
affairs,  and  attend  to  them  industriously  and  on  system, — 
have  no  quarrels  with  men,  and  submit  cheerfully  to  all  the 
deahngs  of  God.  Let  any  man  who  is  not  happy,  take  hold 
of  his  character  and  habits,  and  reform  them  on  these  prin- 
ciples. Let  him  do  the  work  thoroughly  and  honestly,  and 
if  then  his  peace  and  happiness  do  not  return,  it  must  be 
that  he  stands  in  need  of  medical,  not  moral,  treatment, 
and  I  can  do  no  more  for  him,  but  to  commend  him  to  the 
care  of  his  physician. 


CHAPTER  IV. 

THE    POOR. 

"  Where  there  is  no  vision,  the  people  perish." 

There  are  a  great  many  persons  in  the  world,  whose  only 
idea  of  doing  good,  seems  to  be  the  act  of  giving  money,  or 
something  which  money  will  purchase,  to  the  poor.  Pecu- 
nieiry  charity,  as  a  relief  for  physical  suffering,  they  appear 
to  consider  the  great  work  of  Christian  benevolence. 
Whereas  it  is  but  a  very,  very  small  department ;  and 
though  it  is  a  department  which  must  on  no  account  be 
neglected,  still  it  is  probably  one,  in  which  the  labors  of 
the  philanthropist  are  most  discouraging;  and  least  effec- 
tual in  producing  any  ultimate,  useful  result. 

The  reason  of  this  will  be  obvious,  upon  a  little  reflec- 
tion, on  the  nature  and  causes  of  poverty.     In  America, 


Ch.  4.]  THE    POOR.  1 1 1 

Causes  of  poverty.  Exceptions.  An  example. 

and  probably  in  most  parts  of  England,  poverty >>  by  which 
I  mean,  the  absolute  want  of  the  necessaries  of  life,  arises 
in  a  vast  majority  of  cases,  from  idleness,  mismanagement, 
or  from  vice.  It  is  the  punishment  which  Providence  has 
assigned  to  each  of  these  offences  against  his  laws,  and, 
as  in  all  other  cases,  you  cannot  very  easily  abate  the 
punishment,  without  increasing  the  sin.  Goodjcharacter, 
iodustryj  and  prudence,  will,  in  almost  any  country,  under 
almost  any  government,  and  in  almost  any  condition,  find 
a  comfortable  subsistence.  Of  course,  there  are  excep- 
tions ;  exceptions  on  a  great  scale,  produced  by  great 
national  calamities,  and  on  a  smaller  scale,  by  individual 
sickness  or  suffering.  There  are  men,  undoubtedly,  the 
utmost  efforts  of  whose  feeble  powers,  will  not  procure  the 
means  of  subsistence; — and  thousands  may  be  reduced  to 
beggary  by  a  pestilence,  or  a  prevaihng  famine,  or  turned 
out  of  employment  by  a  change  in  the  arrangements  of 
business, — or  reduced  to  the  extreme  of  hunger  and  des 
pair  in  a  besieged  city.  It  is  not,  however,  my  province 
here  to  speak  of  these.  They  are  beyond  the  limits  of 
ordinary  private  Christian  charity.  They  are  great  emer- 
gencies which  must  be  met,  each  by  its  own  appropriate 
remedy,  which  the  statesman  must  devise;  or  they  are,  as 
is  more  frequently  the  case,  judgments  from  Heaven,  which 
admit  of  no  remedy,  perhaps  even  no  sensible  alleviation 
from  the  hand  of  man,  but  will  do  their  awful  work  to  the 
full. 

These  instances  are,  however,  rare ;  all  the  ordinary 
cases  of  suffering  from  poverty,  are  produced  from  one  of 
the  three  causes  above  enumerated, — idleness,  mismanage- 
ment, or  vice;  and  it  is  almost  impossible  to  alleviate  the 
consequences  without  aggravating  the  cause. 

For  example,  let  us  look  at  a  very  common  case.  A 
woman,  apparently  in  the  most  wretched  condition  which 
imagination  can  conceive,  comes  up  to  your  door,  begging 
for  some  money  to  buy  food.     She   carries  a  child  in  ho^ 


112  THE    WAY  TO  BO   GOOD.  [Ch.  4. 

The  child.  Its  value.  Vice  and  misery. 

arms,  pale  and  sickly,  but  lying  quiet  and  passive;  it  has 
too  little  vitality  to  cry.  The  woman  is  really  fatigued  and 
hungry.  So  she  was  half  an  hour  ago,  and  she  stopped  at 
a  house  at  a  little  distance,  and  perceiving  that  she  was  not 
observed,  she  stole  a  pair  of  shoes,  which,  instead  of  con- 
verting them  to  food,  she  has  pawned  at  a  grocery  for  rum. 
As  to  her  hunger,  she  presumed  she  should  find  some  char- 
itable person  to  supply  her  with  food.  The  child  is  not  her 
own.  A  guilty  and  inhuman  mother  has  given  it  to  her. 
"Given  it  to  her  !"  you  exclaim.  "What  can  have  in- 
duced her  to  take  such  a  burden  ? "  Because  it  helps  her 
to  excite  sympathy  and  obtain  money.  Besides,  the  little 
sufferer's  wasted  and  emaciated  frame  is  not  heavy;  and 
its  pale  and  sunken  countenance,  and  hollow,  languid  eye, 
gains  more  silver  than  all  that  the  artful  woman  herself  can 
say.  She  has  been  put  into  an  almshouse  once  or  twice, 
but  has  made  her  escape.  She  prefers  the  roving  life  of  a 
beggar  woman,  with  its  liberty,  its  idleness,  and  its  rum. 
She  generally  finds  enough  good-hearted,  but  weak  philan- 
thropists, to  give  a  sufficient  quantity  of  money,  for  the 
only  purchase  she  wishes  to  make;  and  others,  who  will 
not  give  her  money,  will  give  her  food  and  clothes; — so 
that  the  only  evil  she  really  fears,  is  a  few  hours'  interrup- 
tion to  the  supply  of  her  cup.  Habit  has  made  any  barn 
or  shed  a  comfortable  lodging  to  her; — she  has  become 
accustomed,  too,  to  the  burden  she  carries,  and  she  has 
slung  it  so  dexterously,  that  it  presses  but  lightly  on  her 
back;  and  when  the  little  sufferer  cries,  the  same  potion 
which  intoxicates  her,  will  quiet  him.  It  answers,  too,  the 
additional  purpose  of  perpetuating,  by  its  poisoning  effecty 
that  pale  and  sickly  countenance,  on  which  his  whole  value 
depends.  And  she  reflects  that  should  he  live,  and  become 
too  heavy  to  be  carried,  he  will  be  old  enough  to  beg,  and 
soon  after  to  steal; — or,  if  he  should  not  be  an  apt  scholar, 
she  can  leave  him  by  the  road-side,  towards  morning,  in 
some  populous  village,  or  upon  the  city  side-walk. 


Ch.  4]  THfi  ifooR.  1 13 

What  can  be  done  ?  Effect  of  charitable  aid. 

This  is  the  kind  of  life  which  she  deliberately  prefers. 
Not  because  it  is  a  happy  one.  It  is  a  most  wretched 
one.  Her  days  are  spent  in  continual  misery.  Want  often 
presses  her  down;  hunger  gnaws;  cold  and  exposure  bring 
frequent,  and  severe  suffering, — and  diseases,  brought  on 
by  vice,  sometimes  stupify  her  senses,  and  sometimes  tor- 
ture her  with  the  acutest  pains.  And  more  than  all  the  rest, 
a  guilty  conscience  corrodes  her  heart,  and  completes  her 
misery,  by  making  her  mind  as  full  of  sources  of  suffering, 
as  her  body.  She  does  not  prefer  this  life,  because  she  is 
happy,  but  because  she  is  wicked,  and  such  a  course  opens 
the  widest  door  for  the  indulgence  of  every  sin. 

Now  this  wretched  outcast  comes  up  to  your  dwelling,  in 
an  hour  of  real  suffering  from  hunger.  She  wants  bread 
for  herself,  and  milk  for  her  starving  child.  She  does  really 
want  it.  For  a  moment,  hunger  has  overpowered  a  de- 
praved and  insatiable  thirst;  but  if  you  satisfy  the  one,  all 
you  do,  is  just  to  restore  her  to  the  dominion  of  the  other. 
As  she  leaves  your  house,  after  having  been  warmed,  and 
clothed,  and  fed, — she  will  pilfer  something  from  the  kitch- 
en, if  she  can,  and  go  away  imploring  Heaven  to  bless  you^ 
for  your  goodness;  and  at  the  next  bar-room,  she  will  ex- 
change the  article  she  has  stolen,  and  the  flannel,  with 
which  you  have  wrapped  her  child,  for  something  she 
craves,  and  will  have  at  every  sacrifice. 

Now,  when  such  a  case  presents  itself,  what  can  you  do? 
Nine-tenths  of  the  benevolent  portion  of  mankind  would  be 
deceived,  and  would  profusely  relieve  such  a  case  of  suf- 
fering, by  money,  or  something  which  could  be  turned  into 
money, — not  understanding  the  case.  But  suppose  you 
really  understand  it,  what  can  you  do  ?  Will  you  remon- 
strate with  her?  You  might  as  well  talk  to  the  idle  wind. 
Will  you  clothe  her  child?  That  clothing  is  just  as  good 
as  money  to  her,  at  many  a  haunt  of  vice:  and,  besides, 
were  it  not  so,  she  would  not  keep  such  clothing  on. 
Clothing  the  child  comfortably,  would  spoil  it  as  an  instru- 
30* 


tl4  THfi    WAY   TO   DO   GOOfi.  [Cfl.  4 


The  wicked  woman's  pkin  of  life. 


ment  of  accomplishing  her  purpose,  and  rather  than  destroy 
its  power  of  awakening  sympathy,  by  having  it  comfortable, 
she  would  throw  your  gifts  away,  over  the  first  wall  she 
passes.  Will  you  turn  her  away  from  your  door,  then, 
without  relief  ?  She  is  actually  suffering  with  hunger,  and 
the  lips  of  the  helpless  babe  too,  are  parched  with  thirst, 
which  that  cup  of  warm  milk,  standing  upon  your  kitchen- 
table,  would  so  speedily  relieve.  No:  you  cannot  send  her 
away.  Will  you,  then,  supply  her  immediate  and  pressing 
wants,  and  those  of  her  child,  an^  refrain  from  giving  her 
any  thing  which  she  can  pervert.''  This- is  exactly  her  plan, 
to  get  from  the  really  benevolent,  food  and  occasional  shel- 
ter, and  from  the  unthinking  liberality  of  others,  or  from 
theft,  the  means  of  indulgence  in  vice.  This  is  exactly  her 
plan,  and  by  sending  her  away  from  your  door  warmed  and 
fed,  you  do  what  is  exactly  calculated  to  encourage  her  to 
go  on  in  her  life  of  sin. 

Still,  perhaps,  you  ought  to  do  it.  As  I  shall  presently 
show,  we  must  relieve,  if  we  can,  actual  physical  suffering, 
no  matter  where  it  is  found,  or  who  is  its  cause.  I  detail 
this  case,  thus  particularly,  to  show  how  many,  and  how 
great  are  the  difficulties,  which  beset  the  whole  subject  of 
pecuniary  charity  to  the  poor.  Perhaps  my  readers,  espe- 
cially those  not  much  acquainted  with  the  world,  may  think 
that  this  must  be  a  very  extraordinary  case,  altogether 
unusual,  and,  consequently,  one  not  to  be  safely  used  as  a 
guide  to  principles.  The  case  would  be  a  striking  one,  I 
admit,  but  not  strange  and  unusual  in  its  character.  It 
illustrates  strongly,  but  fairly,  I  believe,  the  general  char- 
acter of  wretched  poverty,  in  almost  all  civilized  communi- 
ties; and  the  difficulties  so  obvious  in  this  one  detached 
case,  are  substantially  the  difficulties  which  have  always 
perplexed  the  most  enhghtened  philanthropists,  in  respect 
to  the  whole  subject  of  pecuniary  aid  to  the  poor.  Their 
poverty,  their  want,  their  hunger,  their  cold,  their  naked- 
ness, are  symptoms,  and  symptoms  only ;  and  a  system  of 


Ch.  4.]  THE  fOOS,.  1  i  5 

Treating  symptoms.  Another  scene. 

direct  effort  to  relieve  these,  is  what  the  medical  profession 
call  treating  symptoms, — a  course  which  must  sometimes 
be  pursued,  but  which  is  very  far,  usually,  from  having  any 
tendency  to  promote  a  radic  vl  cure  of  the  disease. 

We  will  present  one  moii  case,  which  gives  us  a  view 
of  the  same  state  of  things  in,  however,  a  little  different 
aspect. 

In  the  back  apartment  of  a  miserable  cellar,  in  a  crowded 
street  of  New  York,  lives  a  collection  of  human  beings: 
for  it  would  be  wrong,  to  call  such  a  community  a  family. 
There  is  a  mother  there,  it  is  true,  but  all  the  other  rela- 
tions of  life  are  obliterated  and  confounded.  During  the 
day, — a  cold  January  day — the  miserable  hole  exhibits  a 
scene  of  riot  and  noise,  of  oaths  and  imprecations, — now 
of  wild  unearthly  mirth,  and  now  of  malicious  rage; — such 
a  scene,  as  it  would  do  too  much  violence  to  the  feelings  to 
describe.  Their  means  of  vicious  indulgence  are  nearly 
exhausted,  and  to  replenish  them,  the  mother  sends  out  her 
child, — choosing  the  youngest  and  sickliest  of  the  group, — 
to  stand  upon  the  cold  side-walk,  and  beg  of  the  passing 
stranger.  "Say,"  says  the  unnatural  mother,  "that  your 
father  is  dead,  and  your  mother  is  sick,  and  you  want  some 
money  for  medicine." 

The  child  will  not  go.  She  has  no  objection  to  the  false- 
hood, or  to  the  dishonesty,  but  she  is  not  inclined  to  obey. 
Then  follows  a  scene  of  passionate,  furious  contention,  be- 
tween an  angry  mother  and  a  wilful  and  obstinate  child;— ^ 
for,  from  the  first  moment  of  her  existence,  that  immortal 
mind  has  been  trained  up,  by  measures  and  influences 
most  admirably  adapted  to  produce  their  effect,  to  false- 
hood, obstinacy,  passion,  and  every  sin. 

Superior  strength  conquers,  and  the  weak  and  trembling 
child,  paler  than  usual  with  anger,  finds  herself  ejected  by 
force  into  the  cohl  street,  the  bleak  wind  driving  upon  her ' 
uncovered  head,  and  blowing  the  snow  into  her  exposed, 
half-naked  bosom      Do  you  think  she  feels  it,  or  heeds  it  ? 


116  THE    WAY   TO    DO    GOOD.  [Ch.  4. 

The  little  beggar.  Misery  not  innocence. 

No:  she  is  hardened  to  physical  suffering,  and  her  whole 
soul  is  absorbed  by  the  tumultuary  feelings  of  passion 
within. 

She  walks  along  sobbing  witt  vexation,  determined  still 
not  to  submit  to  her  tyrant's  commands,  and  yet  knowing 
that  she  must  suffer  cold  and  hunger  many  hours,  unless 
she  can  carry  home  the  fruits  of  deception.  She  wanders 
instinctively  on,  until  she  reaches  a  street,  where  she  might 
make  application  with  some  hope  of  success,  and  then, 
almost  instinctively,  accosts  the  first  well-dressed  stranger 
who  passes  by.     He  shakes  his  head  at  her  and  walks  on. 

A  small  boy,  smaller  and  weaker  than  herself,  approach- 
es. He  is  returning  from  the  grocer's  at  the  corner,  where 
he  has  been  to  buy  some  bread,  and  he  brings  back  the 
change  in  his  hand.  It  was  but  a  step  from  his  home,  and 
his  mother  thought  she  would  trust  him,  though  the  wind 
was  cold.  Our  little  beggar  sees  a  shorter  way  to  gain 
her  end.  She  seizes  his  arm,  and  with  a  dexterity,  which 
shows  that  this  is  not  her  first  lesson,  she  wrests  the  small 
silver  and  copper  coins  from  the  little  messenger's  hand, 
and  darts  off  round  the  corner.  The  boy  screams  aloud, 
as  he  lies  crying  upon  the  snowy  pavement,  where  the  vio- 
lence of  the  assault  has  thrown  him.  The  passengers  turn 
their  heads  as  they  pass,  and  one,  with  more  feeling  for  the 
sorrows  of  childhood  than  the  rest,  stops  to  help  him  up, 
and  to  ask  what  is  the  matter.  But  sobs  and  tears  are  very 
general  in  their  meaning,  and  the  poor  boy  has  no  other 
language  at  command.  In  the  meantime  the  thief  is  far 
away. 

Holding  her  money  tenaciously  in  her  little  hand,  she 
walks  along,  till,  in  a  little  sunny  nook  in  a  back  yard, 
surrounded  by  a  high  wall,  she  finds  some  children,  wretch- 
ed as  herself,  trying  to  play.  Though  the  water  drops 
slowly  from  the  icicles  above  them,  it  is  yet  cold:  but  it  is 
a  change  of  miseries  to  sit  here  for  a  time.  She  joins  them 
and  spends  an  hour,  that  she  may  not  return  too  soon. 


Ch.   4.]  THE    POOR.  117 

The  return.  A  hopeless  case.  Reflections. 

For  she  knows  that  if  her  mother  should  understand  by 
what  good  fortune  her  supply  was  so  easily  obtained,  she 
would  exact  a  double  task.  The  increasing  chill,  at  length, 
drives  her  home,  but  it  is  too  soon.  Her  mother  seeing 
silver,  knows  that  she  has  taken  some  more  expeditious 
mode  than  begging, — and  snatching  her  booty  from  her 
hands,  she  drives  her  out  again  with  reproaches  and  blows. 

The  child  returns  to  her  post,  stands  chilled  and  shiver- 
ing in  the  corner  of  the  streets,  and  at  length  gains  the  ear 
of  a  man,  who  can  feel  for  human  suffering,  and  tells  him 
with  an  artful  air  of  artlessness,  that  her  father  is  dead,  and 
her  mother  very  sick,  and  begs  him  to  give  her  a  little 
money  for  medicine. 

Now  what  can  money  do  in  such  a  case  as  this  .'*  Sup- 
pose that  the  benevolent  man,  who  listens  to  the  tale,  is  the 
wealthiest  man  on  earth;  what  can  he  do  with  wealth  alone 
that  will  touch  such  misery  as  this.  And  this  is  the  nature 
of  almost  the  whole  of  that  great  mass  of  physical  wretch- 
edness, which  has  been  for  a  century  accumulating  in  Eng- 
land and  America.  This  case  may  be  a  strong  one,  but 
it  is  true  to  the  fact.  The  great  truth,  which  it  illustrates, 
is  one  which  should  affect  all  our  plans  for  doing  good,  or 
rather  the  whole  system  of  operations,  which  we  attempt 
to  carry  into  effect.  Sin  and  misery  are  almost  inextrica- 
bly mingled  in  the  cup  of  human  wo.  There  is  destitution 
of  comfort  and  depravity  of  heart,  and  they  both  exist  to- 
gether. Each  perpetuates  the  other,  and  any  system  which 
aims  at  supplying  the  wants,  while  it  leaves  the  depravity, 
is  only  adding  new  fuel  to  the  fires  of  these  earthly  hells. 
We  do  not  present  these  views,  unquestionably  true  as 
they  are,  to  blunt  the  sympathies  of  the  heart,  or  to  lead 
men  to  turn  a  deaf  ear  to  the  cry  of  suffering  poverty,  on 
the  ground  that  its  sufferings  are  all  deserved.  It  is  true,  in- 
deed, that  they  are  too  often  deserved,  but  this  is  a  consid- 
eration which  should  never  lead  us  to  disregard  them.  The 
0  \\y  way  in  which  these  unquestionable  facts  should  influ 


118  THE    WAY    TO    DO    GOOD.  [Ch.  4. 

Character.  The  way  to  save  mankind. 

ence  us,  is  to  lead  us  to  look  carefully,  at  what  is  to  be  the 
ultimate  tendency  and  effect  of  our  measures  of  relief  In 
fact,  there  are  two  reasons,  why  every  benevolent  mind, 
should  be  made  clearly  to  understand  the  real  state  of  the 
case,  in  respect  to  the  subject  we  are  treating.  The  first 
is,  that  they  may  be  thoroughly  convinced,  that  the  only 
way  of  doing  any  real,  and  substantial,  and  lasting  good  to 
the  human  family,  is  by  the  improvement  of  character. 
Character  is  every  thing.  Let  this  be  right,  and  honesty, 
industry,  and  prudence  will  root  out  want  and  wretchedness 
from  every  part  of  the  earth.  But  leave  character  unchang- 
ed., and  human  want  and  wo  are  a  mighty  gulf,  which  will 
swallow  up  all  that  the  benevolence  of  the  whole  world  can 
throw  in,  and  then  be  wider  and  darker,  and  more  awful 
than  before.  And  the  way  to  improve  character  is  to  bid 
God  speed  every  where,  to  the  gospfel  of  Jesus  Christ.  It 
is  the  only  means,  which  has  ever  been  found  adequate  to 
the  work,  of  subduing  human  passions,  and  securing  to  a 
community  the  blessings  of  comfort  and  peace.  Bring  men 
back  to  God, — show  them  that  their  aggravated  sins  may 
all  be  forgiven,  enkindle  within  them  the  hopes  of  a  happy 
immortality,  and  let  them  see  in  the  great  Mediator  between 
God  and  man,  a  guide,  and  a  companion,  and  a  sympathiz- 
ing friend  to  them,  in  all  their  sorrows  and  cares,  and  in 
the  vast  majority  of  cases,  you  need  have  no  more  fear  of 
cold  and  hunger  and  nakedness, — ^you  will  find  no  more 
broken-hearted  wives  or  starved  children. 

The  second  object  we  have  had  in  view,  in  presenting 
this  view  of  the  subject,  is,  to  impress  our  readers  with  a 
sense  of  the  importance  of  their  understanding  what  they 
do,  and  what  is  the  real  tendency  and  effect  of  their  meas- 
ures, whenever  they  do  act  directly  in  the  relief  of  present 
suffering.  They  must  understand  that  it  is  only  alleviating 
symptoms  after  all,  while  the  real  disease,  rages  with  una- 
bated power.  There  are  some  exceptions,  but  they  are 
much  fewer  than  the  inexperienced  would  generally  sup- 


Ch.  4.]  THE    POOR.  119 


Sentiment&l  feeling.  Some  cases  of  virtuous  poverty. 

pose;  and  even  when  we  are  aware  of  the  general  rule,  our 
hearts  are  very  prone  to  make  the  case,  which  is  for  the 
moment  appealing  to  it,  one  of  the  exceptions.  There  is  a 
sort  of  instinctive  feeling,  that  the  being  whom  we  see  suf- 
fering before  us  must  be  innocent.  Pity  is  cousin  to  love, 
and  love  to  moral  approbation;  and  where  the  first  comes 
in  by  right,  the  last  is  very  likely  to  intrude. 

Those  whose  benevolence  is  based  on  sentimental  feeling 
alone,  are  in  special  danger  from  such  delusions,  and  will 
often  do  injury,  where  they  were  fondly  hoping  to  do  good. 
You  visit  a  wretched  house,  perhaps,  and  find  a  woman 
there,  who  tells  you  a  piteous  story  about  her  sufferings, 
from  the  neglect  and  the  wrongs  endured  from  an  intempe- 
rate husband.  Her  story  is  plausible,  and  how  much  more 
readily  will  a  feeling  heart,  in  observing  the  unequivocal 
proofs  of  wretchedness  around,  believe  than  question  her 
story.  And,  then,  if  the  understanding  should  coolly  sug- 
gest that  character  generally  receives  its  direction  in  accor- 
dance with  the  circumstances  under  which  it  is  formed,  and 
that  the  abode  of  vice  is  not  the  place  where  you  would  nat- 
urally expect  to  find  a  virtuous  woman ; — and  consequent- 
ly that,  though  this  may  be  an  exception,  you  ought  to  be 
cautious  in  admitting  it  to  be  such,  without  evidence  ade- 
quate to  the  case; — I  say,  if  the  understanding  coldly  sug- 
gests these  thoughts,  we  strive  to  banish  them  as  if  they 
were  unjust  and  cruel.  It  is  a  case  where  we  are  in  special 
danger  of  being  led,  by  the  heart,  astray. 

The  views  here  given,  do  not  apply  to  all  the  cases  of 
suffering  poverty,  which  the  Christian  will  meet.  There  is 
virtuous  poverty,  though  it  is  rare.  The  industrious  and 
frugal  workman  is  kept  for  years  on  the  verge  of  want  by 
his  feeble  health,  and  his  increasing  family,  and  sinks  at 
last  under  the  burden  which  he  can  carry  no  longer.  The 
virtuous  wife,  too,  is  deprived  of  her  earnings  by  the  bru- 
tahty  of  her  husband, — and  herself  and  her  children  suffer 
all  the  bitterness  of  want,  that  the  depraved  and  insatiable 


120  THE    WAT    TO    DO    GOOD.  [Ch.   4. 

These  exceptions  rare.  First  direction. 

appetites  of  the  husband  and  father  may  be  supplied.  The 
orphan  child,  too,  is  often,  very  often,  left  friendless  and 
alone, — to  be  saved  by  Christian  charity,  or  else  to  go  to 
utter  ruin.  I  should  be  sorry,  indeed,  if  any  individuals  of 
these  classes,  should  read  the  remarks  in  this  chapter,  and 
imagine  that  they  could  be  intended  to  have  any  bearing 
upon  them.  If  there  is  any  moral  spectacle,  which  can 
make  the  heart  bleed,  and  bring  tears  of  compassion  into 
the  eye,  it  is  to  see  a  broken-hearted  wife  and  mother,  toil- 
ing in  vain  to  procure  food  and  clothing  for  her  defenceless 
children,  and  to  shelter  them  from  exposure  to  vice  and  ruin, 
while  their  insane  and  brutal  father  is  raving  in  the  streets, 
with  flushed  cheeks,  and  glazed  eyes,  and  muttering  voice, 
during  the  day,  apd  turning  his  home  at  night  into  a  scene 
of  terror  and  despair.  And  then,  to  think,  that  for  such 
ills,  there  is  and  there  can  be  no  earthly  remedy.  Our 
sympathy,  our  aid,  our  encouragement  may  give  a  little 
alleviation;  it  is,  however,  but  little  after  all.  The  bitter 
cup  we  cannot  sweeten  nor  take  away. 

These  cases,  however,  much  as  every  Christian  philan- 
thropist will  feel  for  them,  he  will  find  comparatively  rare. 
They  are  exceptions  to  the  general  rule,  that  want  is  ordi- 
narily the  punishment  of  idleness,  improvidence,  or  vice. 
Still,  to  relieve  it,  is  an  important  part  of  our  duty,  and  we 
shall  devote  the  remainder  of  this  chapter  to  some  brief 
rules  and  cautions,  by  which  we  ought  to  be  guided  in  dis- 
charging it. 

1.'  The  distress  must  be  relieved  if  possible.  Whatever 
doubts  and  difficulties  there  may  be,  about  making  formal 
and  systematic  preparations  for  taking  care  of  the  poor, 
and  however  justly  the  suff*erings  of  the  poor  may  generally 
be  considered  as  the  result  of  their  own  improvidence  and 
vice,  yet,  when  real  distress  actually  comes,  we  must  imme- 
diately do  all  in  our  power  to  relieve  it.  No  matter  whether 
the  sufferer  is  innocent  or  guilty.  No  matter  whether  he 
has  brought  calamity  upon  his  head,  or  is  suflTering  ills 


Ch.  4.]  THE   POOR.  121 

Suffering  vice  and  suffering  virtue.  A  cautioix. 

which  no  foresight  could  have  avoided.  It  is  enough  that 
he  is  suffering,  and  that  we  have  power  to  relieve  him. 

In  fact,  in  some  points  of  view,  suffering  vice  is  a  great- 
er object  of  compassion  than  suffering  virtue.  In  the 
former  case,  there  is  nothing  to  alleviate, — nothing  to  sus- 
tain or  console;  but  the  heart  is  overwhelmed  with  the  sor- 
rows and,  sufferings  which  press  upon  it  from  without,  and 
yet  finds  nothing  but  gloom  and  desolation  within.  For  a 
man  to  find  misery  before  and  around  him,  staring  upon 
him,  in  the  ruins  of  what  was  once  a  happy  home,  driving 
his  wife  to  despair,  and  starving  his  children, — and  then  to 
feel  that  it  is  all  the  result  of  his  own  folly  and  sin,  must  be 
wretchedness  indeed.  If  we  can  relieve  it,  it  must  be  re- 
lieved. The  Savior  has  set  us  the  example.  We  must 
stop  the  pain,  and  then,  by  the  strongest  moral  means 
which  we  can  bring  to  bear  upon  his  heart,  we  must  bid 
the  sufferer  sin  no  more. 

We  may,  therefore,  lay  it  down  as  one  simple  and  uni- 
versal rule,  that  when  we  find  suffering, — real,  unquestion- 
able suffering, — we  have  no  doubts  and  queries  to  raise 
about  the  character  or  the  desert  of  the  sufferer.  When- 
ever and  wherever  we  find  it,— no  matter  what  is  its  cause, 
or  who  is  its  victim, — we  must  relieve  it  if  we  can. 

2.  We  must  take  care  that  we  correctly  understand  the 
case:  so  that  we  may  know  how  great  the  real  suffering  is. 
In  this  respect  we  must  guard  against  two  dangers.  First, 
being  deceived  by  the  sufferer,  and,  secondly,  deceiving 
ourselves. 

First.  No  persons,  excepting  those  who  have  had  a  great 
deal  of  experience,  and,  together  with  it,  a  great  deal  of 
knowledge  of  human  nature,  and  of  shrewdness  in  under- 
standing its  movements,  can  form  any  conception  of  the 
extent  to  which  the  Benevolence  of  Feeling  is  duped  in 
this  world.  The  Benevolence  of  Principle  is  not  so  easily 
deceived  That  there  must  be,  from  the  very  nature  of 
the  case,  such  deception,  any  one  will  see  by  a  moment's 
11 


122  THE    WAY    TO    DO    GOOD.  [Ch.  4 

Sufferiug  virtue  uncommon.  Artifices  of  the  vicious. 

thought.  The  wretched  and  destitute  in  this  world  are,  in 
a  vast  majority  of  cases,  the  depraved  and  abandoned  in 
character.  It  may  seem  harsh  to  say  it,  but  every  one 
who  has  had  any  opportunity  for  judging  knows  it  is  true. 
Virtue  suffering  real  want,  is  seldom  to  be  found  excepting 
in  poetry  and  fiction.  It  is  in  this  way,  that  this  becomes 
true,  either  it  is  vice  which  makes  a  man  wretched,  and 
brings  him  down  from  the  position  he  might  have  occupied, 
or  else,  if  the  inevitable  circumstances  of  his  lot  bring  him 
to  a  condition  of  wretchedness^,  they  do,  at  the  same  time, 
as  the  world  now  goes  on,  expose  him  to  influences  which 
almost  inevitably  make  him  depraved.  When  therefore 
we  see  an  object  of  misery  coming  to  us  for  relief,  it  is 
very  unsafe  for  us  to  believe,  too  readily,  that  he  is  an 
honest  man. 

Still,  as  I  have  said  under  the  preceding  head,  this  is  no 
reason  why  he  should  not  be  relieved,  if  he  is  really  a  suf- 
ferer. It  is  no  reason  why  we  should  pronounce  him  a 
bad  man,  or  say  any  thing  or  do  any  thing  to  lead  him  to 
suppose  that  we  consider  him  so.  It  is  only  a  reason  why 
we  should  be  on  our  guard.  In  fact  we  ought  not  to  con- 
sider him,  as  an  individual,  bad.  We  ought  not  to  decide 
the  question  at  all,  till  we  have  evidence  which  applies 
to  the  particular  case.  Our  feeling  should  be,  that  the 
question  whether  the  applicant  before  us  is  a  good  man  or 
a  bad  man  is  yet  undecided,  but  that  probably,  when  we 
come  to  have  evidence  on  the  point,  we  shall  find  that  it 
will  not  be  in  his  favor,  and  that  therefore  we  ought  to  be 
on  our  guard. 

A  volume  might  be  filled  with  details  of  the  contrivances 
of  artful  men  and  women,  and  of  children  taught  all  the 
practices  of  depravity  at  an  early  age,  to  feign  wretched- 
ness, and  at  the  same  time  to  assume  the  semblance  of 
virtue.  They  will  put  forward  into  display  every  sign  and 
muicctiion  or  suffering  they  can  think  of  They  inure 
'*j»vrnselves  to  hardships  that  they  may  exhibit  themselves 


t 


Ch.  4.]  THE    POOR.  123 

Hypocrisy.  Danger  of  deceiving  ourselves. 

in  the  endurance  of  them.  They  know  too,  generally,  that 
it  is  from  Christians  alone  that  the  suffering  have  much 
ground  of  hope,  and  they  soon  learn  the  language  of 
seriousness,  or  of  piety  itself,  that  they  may  awaken  a 
moral  interest  in  their  behalf  in  the  hearts  of  Christian 
benefactors.  They  can  talk  of  their  sorrows,  their  trials, 
their  temptations,  their  hard  struggles  with  the  ills  of  their 
lot,  and  by  means  of  the  confidence  which  the  language  of 
piety  obtains  for  them  in  the  hearts  of  others,  they  procure 
the  means  and  the  stimulants  which  carry  them  on  with 
redoubled  rapidity  in  the  career  of  depravity.  This  may 
seem  severe.  The  benevolence  of  sentiment  and  feeling 
will  perhaps  exclaim  against  it;  but  the  most  experienced 
and  the  most  indefatigable  friend  of  the  suffering  poor,  will 
testify  that  it  is  true.  And  what  must  we  do?  Relieve 
the  suffering  if  you  can,  and  hear  attentively  the  story 
But  suspect  all  mere  professions  of  piety,  or  even  of  a 
dawning  interest  in  it,  and  do  not  take  appearances  as 
evidence  of  the  real  extent  of  the  suffering.  Be,  in  a 
word,  on  your  guard.  But  never  turn  a  deaf  ear  to  com- 
plaints because  you  suspect  them  to  be  insincere,  or  refuse 
to  relieve  suffering  because  you  believe  it  deserved.  No 
Vengeance  is  not  ours.  The  more  intimatejy  sin  and  suf- 
fering are  mingled  in  a  cup  of  misery,  the  louder  is  the 
call  to  the  Christian  to  come  immediately  with  relief.  For 
here  both  the  enemies  against  which  he  is  contending  may 
be  encountered  together.  The  considerations  which  we 
have  presented,  should  therefore  have  influence  only  in 
leading  us  to  be  careful  that  we  ascertain  correctly  what 
the  real  nature  and  extent  of  the  suffering  really  is,  and 
not  to  postpone  or  to  neglect  relieving  it  when  it  is  ascer- 
tained. 

Secondly,  we  are  in  great  danger  of  deceiving  ourselves 
in  respect  to  the  amount  of  suffering  we  witness.  We 
consider  how  much  we  should  suffer  if  we  were  in  the 
place  of  those  whom  we  pity,  and  measure  the  extent  of 


124  THE    WAY  TO   DO   GOOD.  [Ch.   4 

The  stage-driver.  The  power  of  habit.  Third  rule. 

their  pain  by  our  susceptibilities.  The  body  becomes 
inured  to  hardships  to  a  degree  which  is  surprising.  The 
cold,  the  abstinence,  the  exposure  which  would  destroy 
one,  will  be  borne  by  another  without  any  serious  suffering. 
A  stage-driver  will  sit  upon  his  box  all  day,  without  seeing, 
or  wishing  to  see  a  fire;  driving  in  an  atmosphere  of 
piercing  cold,  so  intense  that  the  passengers  within,  though 
protected  from  the  air  and  muffled  in  cloaks  and  furs,  can 
scarcely  bear  its  extreme  inclemency  while  they  are 
passing  from  one  blazing  tavern-fire  to  another.  How 
often,  too,  have  we  seen,  as  we  have  been  hurrying  along 
the  streets  to  our  home,  in  a  bleak  wintry  day,  a  group  of 
boys  with  thin  clothing,  open  bosoms,  and  bare  hands, 
amusing  themselves  with  their  coasting,  or  their  snow-forts, 
hour  after  hour.  Many  a  time  does  the  tender  mother  pity 
her  poor  child,  playing  in  the  cold,  when  it  is  all  enjoyment 
to  him  It  is  so  with  abstinence  from  food.  The  human 
constitution  adapts  itself  with  wonderful  readiness  and  cer- 
tainty to  its  conditions,  and  learns  to  do  and  to  bear  without 
pain,  what  it  is  often  compelled  to  do  and  to  bear.  Now 
let  no  reader  say  that  these  remarks  are  intended  to  deny 
that  the  poor  suffer  from  hunger  and  cold.  They  do  suffer 
often  and  intensely — more  intensely  than  the  well-clothed 
and  well-fed  dispenser  of  charity  can  conceive.  Still  they 
often  do  not  Suffer,  where  there  is  every  appearance  of 
suffering;  that  is,  we  see  that  we  should  suflTer  in  their 
place,  and  we  think  that  they  must  suffer  too.  We  ought 
to  be  aware  of  this;  for  to  enable  us  to  act  wisely  and 
judiciously,  the  first  thing  is  to  understand  correctly^  the 
case  in  respect  to  which  we  are  going  to  act. 

3.  When  we  have  found,  thus,  a  case  of  real  suffering, 
and  have  taken  those  precautions  which  the  nature  of  the 
case  will  admit  for  correctly  understanding  it,  we  ought  to 
proceed  soberly  and  cautiously  in  measures  for  relief  If 
your  feelings  become  deeply  interested  in  the  case, — and 
if  your   benevolence  is   rather   that  of  feeling   than   of 


Ch.  4.]  THE    POOR.  125 

Danger  of  overdoing.  Encourage  exertion.  Illustration. 

principle,  they  will  be  very  likely  to  become  so,  by  the  in- 
fluence of  little  circumstances  which  may  give  the  charm 
of  sentiment  or  romance  to  the  affair, — you  may  make  a 
great  exertion,  you  may  enlist  the  feelings  and  efforts  of 
your  acquaintance,  and  you  may,  by  your  various  plans, 
carry  your  measures  for  relief  altogether  beyond  just 
bounds.  It  is  not  that  you  will  be  in  danger  of  producing 
too  much  happiness,  but  that  by  overdoing  your  part  here, 
you  may  aggravate,  in  the  end,  the  suffering  you  intended 
to  relieve.  How  you  will  be  in  danger  of  doing  this,  will 
appear  more  clearly  from  the  cautions  given  in  the  two 
following  heads. 

4.  In  all  your  efforts  to  promote  the  good  of  the  poor, 
endeavor  to  encourage,  and  bring  out,  and  aid  their  own 
efforts,  not  to  supply  the  place  of  them  by  your  charity. 
Your  principle  should  be,  not  to  carry  them,  but  to  help 
them  walk,  themselves.  Aid  them  in  their  own  plans,  and 
aid  them  too  as  little  as  possible,  consistently  with  relieving 
from  actual  suffering.  If,  for  instance,  a  poor  woman's 
infant  child  is  suffering  for  clothing,  do  not  make  a  full 
supply  of  such  clothing  as  you  would  want  for  your  own 
child,  and  then  send  it  in  to  her  to  surprise  and  gladden 
her  by  the  unexpected  profusion.  By  doing  so,  you  will 
indeed  produce  a  momentary  feeling  of  surprise,  and  per- 
haps gratitude;  but  you  go  so  far  beyond  what  her  own 
exertions  could  hope  to  reach,  that  she  is  discouraged 
rather  than  aided,  in  respect  to  her  own  exertions  for  the 
future.  She  despises  the  coarse  and  less  comfortable  sup- 
plies which  she  can  herself  procure,  and  by  spoiling,  in 
her  view,  the  rewards  of  her  own  industry,  that  industry 
is  discouraged  and  depressed.  She  sinks  into  idleness, 
waiting  and  hoping  for  another  gift. 

On  the  other  hand,  when  you  find  one  struggling  with 

poverty,  aid  those  struggles.     Ask  them  what  they  want, 

what  they  are  trying  to  obtain,  and  aid  them  just  as  much 

as  is  necessary  to  enable  them  to  obtain  what  they  want, 

11* 


126  THE   WAY    TO    DO    GOOlt.  [Cfl.  4, 

Efffects  of  profusion.  Danger  of  envy  and  jeaiousy. 

and  to  obtain  it  in  their  own  way.  Instead  of  sending  them 
a  new  bed,  give  them  aid  in  getting  the  old  one  fixed  and 
mended.  Instead  of  maying  them  to  another  house  be- 
cause you  think  you  could  not  be  contented  in  theirs,  show 
them  how  they  can  make  their  present  cabin  tidy  and  com- 
fortable. In  a  word,  instead  of  coming  in  at  once  with  a 
profusion  of  new  comforts  and  supplies,  to  produce  a  sud- 
den emotion  of  wonder  and  joy,  help  them  a  little, — just  as 
much  as  is  necessary,  —  in  going  on  in  their  own  yvay,  ex- 
cept, of  course,  so  far  as  their  own  way  is  positively  wrong. 
Thus  by  aiding  them  in  their  own  labors  and  plans,  you 
encourage  and  stimulate  effort,  and  make  the  little  aid  you 
render  of  lasting  benefit. 

5.  If  you  do  too  much  for  any  one  individual  who  is 
suffering,  you  will  excite  the  jealousy  and  envy  of  the  rest. 
Thus  you  will  cut  off  the  poor  from  the  sympathy  and  aid 
of  one  another,  which  is,  after  all,  of  more  value  to  them 
than  the  more  liberal  charities  of  the  rich.  Among  the 
lowest  and  most  degraded  classes  there  are  all  varieties  of 
condition.  There  are  gradations  of  rank,  of  influence,  and 
property,  as  decided  as  in  a  royal  court.  A  disposition 
to  relieve  and  help  one  another  exists,  too,  among. them. 
Whenever  any  case  of  extraordinary  suffering  occurs,  the 
neighbors  flock  around  the  scene,  partly  from  real  genuine 
compassion,  and  partly  from  that  mysterious  principle  in 
human  nature,  the  love  of  tragic  excitement,  which  other 
classes  gratify  by  fiction,  they  by  reality. 

Suppose  now  in  the  course  of  your  walks  of  charity  you 
come  to  a  wretched  habitation,  half  under  ground,  where  a 
woman  is  lying  sick.  Her  room,  if  room  it  may  be  called, 
seems  to  you,  as  you  enter  it,  entirely  destitute  of  every 
comfort.  The  sufferer  is  alone  when  you  come  in,  but 
she  is  by  no  means  deserted.  Her  poor  neighbors,  as  you 
would  call  them, — though  as  their  daily  labors  bring  them 
all  they  want,  they  are  very  far  from  calling  themselves 
poor, — have   come  in  to  help  her.     One  has  lent  her  a 


Ch.  4.]  THE  POOR.  157 

The  benevolence  of  the  poor.  The  right  way/ 

blanket.  Another  brought  in  that  morning  some  wood  to 
make  a  fire  for  preparing  her  some  food,  and  then  extin- 
guished it  as  no  longer  necessary  when  the  food  was  pre- 
pared. The  room  looks  cheerless  and  uncomfortable  to 
you,  but  the  patient  is  not  cold,  any  more  than  you  yourself 
are  cold,  when  sleeping  in  an  unwarnied  chamber  in  a 
night  in  January.  Other  neighbors  come  in  during  the 
day,  from  time  to  time,  to  talk  a  little  with  the  patient  and 
cheer  her  heart.  Thus  all  her  real  wants  are  supplied. 
The  appearances  of  suffering  which  strike  you  as  you 
enter,  are  only  the  general  circumstances  of  her  condition, 
to  which  she  has  always  been  accustomed,  and  which  pro- 
duce no  suffering,  and  awaken  no  feeling  of  discontent; 
and  she  is  in  fact,  only  an  object  of  compassion,  just  as  all 
other  persons  are  who  are  sick,  whatever  may  be  the 
aspect  of  the  chamber  where  they  are  confined. 

The  wise  course  now,  in  such  a  case  is,  plainly,  not  to 
come  with  a  profusion  of  aid,  so  as  to  break  in  upon  and 
derange  the  operations  of  that  neighborhood.  Just  en- 
courage, and  aid,  and  help  forward  those  operations.  Sit 
a  few  minutes  by  the  bedside,  and  tell  the  patient  you  are 
glad  she  has  so  many  comforts,  and  that  her  neighbors  are 
so  kind  to  her.  Inquire  if  there  is  any  thing  in  addition 
to  what  they  do  for  her,  that  she  wants.  If  there  is,  sup- 
ply her  as  much  as  possible  through  them.  Aid  one  a  little 
in  obtaining  wood  when  it  is  really  wanted.  Ask  another 
whether  a  physician  is  necessary,  and  if  so,  what  one  is 
generally  employed  in  that  neighborhood,  and  help  them  to 
obtain  him.  Thus  strengthen  and  encourage,  and  aid  the 
sympathy  and  charity  which  is  at  hand,  and  on  which  the 
sufllerer  must  after  all  mainly  rely. 

Or  suppose  you  take  the  other  course.  Regardless  of 
what  has  been  done  and  is  doing  for  her,  you  come  and 
break  suddenly  in  upon  the  system  of  kind  attentions  which 
neighbors  and  friends  had  arranged,  and  by  the  compara- 
tively profuse  supplies  which  you  can  easily  render,  you 


128  THE   WAY   TO   DO    GOOD.  [Ch.  4. 

Profuse  benefactions*  A  Case.  The  cabin. 

make  all  that  they  had  done,  appear  insignificant  and  worth- 
less. Soon  after  your  visit,  one  neighbor  comes  in  and 
finds  what  she  would  call  a  rich  counterpane  upon  the  be(? 
and  the  coarse  blanket  which  she  had  made  considerable 
effort  and  sacrifice  to  lend  to  the  patient,  thrown  aside. 
Another  enters  and  sees  a  great  blazing  fire  upon  the 
hearth, — the  little  stock  of  wood  which  she  had  contributed, 
and  which  she  had  been  frugally  using,  all  consumed,  and 
its  place  supplied  by  your  extravagant  contribution.  They 
see  immediately  that  the  case  is  taken  out  of  their  hands. 
They  were  helping  the  poor  traveller  along  the  rough  road 
of  life,  but  you  have  interfered  and  taken  her  into  your 
carriage,  and  they  cannot  keep  up  with  you.  They  are 
discouraged,  and  give  up  their  neighbor  in  despair  of  help- 
ing her  any  more.  The  feeling  is  worse  than  that  of 
despair.  They  will,  in  nine  cases  out  often,  look  with  envy 
and  jealousy  upon  your  profuse  benefactions,  and  their 
compassion  for  their  suffering  neighbor  will  be  turned  to 
dislike,  by  your  raising  her,  for  the  moment,  above  them- 
selves. It  will  be  but  for  a  moment,  for,  in  a  short  time 
you  find  some  other  object  of  compassion  and  charity,  and 
you  gradually  abandon  this  one,  having  by  the  indiscreet 
profusion  of  your  aid,  deprived  her  of  her  greatest  stay  and 
support. 

A  case  has  occurred  within  my  knowledge,  since  this 
chapter  was  commenced,  which  finely  illustrates  this  sub- 
ject. A  benevolent  physician  was  called  to  prescribe  for  a 
sick  woman  in  the  cabin  of  an  Irish  laborer  upon  a  Massa- 
chusetts railroad.  It  was  in  the  depth  of  winter,  the 
thermometer  ranging  from  zero  to  twenty  degrees  below. 
The  rude  cabin  was  made  of  posts  driven  into  the  ground, 
covered  with  boards  of  rough  sides  and  untrimmed  edges. 
Similar  boards,  rudely  overlapping  each  other,  constituted 
the  roof.  The  house  was  banked  up  upon  the  outside  with 
turf  and  stones,  for  several  feet;  but  above,  the  cold  winds 
of  the  winter,  whistled  through  the  innumerable  crevices 


Ch.  4.]  THE   POOR,  129 

Description  of  the  interior.  The  physician's  visit.  A  mediation. 

of  SO  rude  a  structure.  Within,  there  was  but  one  apart- 
ment; a  fire  burned  in  a  corner,  the  fireplace  being  a  little 
more  than  the  angle  of  the  wall,  from  which  the  smoke 
ascended  through  a  chimney  of  loose  stones,  topped  out, 
as  the  masons  say,  with  a  couple  of  empty  flour  barrels. 
Near  the  entrance,  two  short  posts  were  driven  into  the 
turf, — for  the  natural  surface  of  the  ground  was  the  only 
floor, — and  cross-pieces  nailed  from  one  of  them  to  the 
other  and  from  each  to  the  wall,  constituted  the  bedstead 
A  covering  of  boards  answered  instead  of  cord  or  sacking. 
The  door,  if  it  may  be  called  a  door,  was  near;  for  in  order 
to  leave  as  much  room  as  possible  for  the  numerous  occu- 
pants of  the  cabin,  the  bedstead  had  been  built,  though 
probably  not  in  anticipation  of  sickness,  as  far  as  possible 
from  the  fire. 

One  cold  morning,  the  physician  came  to  pay  his  last 
visit,  as  his  patient  was  decidedly  convalescent.  He  found 
as  usual,  the  neighbors  around  the  bed,  in  a  wintry  atmos- 
phere utterly  unaflfected  by  the  fire,  in  the  remote  corner  of 
the  room.  Patient  and  visiters  were  however  all  talking 
merrily  together,  amusing  themselves  with  an  infant  child 
lying  by  the  mother's  side.  After  making  the  customary 
inquiries,  and  then  leaving  the  general  directions  and 
good  wishes  which  usually  attend  the  last  visit  to  conva- 
lescence, he  was  about  going  away,  when  one  of  the 
visiters,  who  lived  in  just  such  a  cabin,  walked  upon  just 
such  a  floor,  and  slept  upon  just  such  a  bed, — if  indeed  she 
ever,  except  in  sickness,  enjoyed  the  luxury  of  any  bed  at 
all, — after  some  whispering  consultation  with  the  others, 
took  him  to  one  side  to  plead  for  a  moderate  charge  in  the 
way  of  fee;  for,  as  she  said  gravely,  "  this  woman  and  her 
husband  are  rather  poor,  and  have  hard  work  to  get 
along!  " 

Now  the  point  I  have  in  view,  in  introducing  this  scene 
to  the  reader's  attention,  is  just  to  make  this  remark  at  the 
close  of  it,  namely,  that  the  benevolence  of  blind  feeling 


130  THE    WAY    TO    DO    GOOD.  [Ch.   4 

The  wise  course.  Last  direction.  •  Public  charity. 

would  have  refused  a  fee  altogether  in  this  case,  and  have 
left,  besides,  some  extravagant  donation  in  money,  or  in 
something  else.  But  a  man,  benevolent  on  principle, — 
wise  and  circumspect,  would  have  done  just  as  the  physi- 
cian did,  in  this  case,  suffer  himself  to  be  persuaded  to 
take  only  a  partial  fee,  and  go  away  with  that, — leaving 
the  patient  to  feel  that  she  was  independent,  not  living 
upon  charity,  and  the  neighbors  to  see  that  through  their 
friendly  intervention,  they  had  done  their  friend  a  real 
service,  by  diminishing  the  charges  of  her  sickness.  Fifty 
dollars  could  not  be  expended  upon  such  a  family  and 
neighborhood,  in  a  way  to  do  more  good  among  them,  than 
that  effected  by  the  simple  influence  of  the  proper  course  in 
such  a  case  as  this.  So  much  more  important  is  it  to  en- 
courage the  ignorant  classes  to  help  themselves  and  one 
another,  than  to  ledd  them  to  lean  upon  the  charity  of  the 
wealthy. 

The  last  direction  we  have  to  give,  is,  to  be  cautious  in 
regard  to  all  public,  known,  established  organizations  for 
the  relief  of  the  poor.  I  do  not  say  oppose  them  nor  refuse 
to  aid  them,  but  watch  them.  They  who  have  been  most 
intimately  acquainted  with  the  operation  of  all  systematic 
and  well  known  charities,  unite  in  saying  that  though  they 
relieve  a  great  deal  of  actual  want  which  could  not  have 
been  avoided,  yet  that  the  great  general  result  which  is 
produced  by  them  is  to  lead  the  mass  of  the  poor,  i.  e.  of 
the  idle,  the  dissipated,  and  the  vicious,  to  calculate  upon 
their  aid,  as  a  part  of  their  regular  resources; — and  to  en- 
able them  to  carry  to  a  still  farther  point,  their  idleness, 
dissipation,  and  vice,  without  being  called  to  account  by 
that  stern  master,  hunger.  There  is  no  doubt  that  the 
public  poor,  and  the  beneficiaries  of  private  charitable 
associations,  both  in  England  and  America,  calculate  in 
many  instances  almost  as  much  upon  their  winter's  aid,  as  a 
bank  stock-holder  does  upon  his  dividend, — and  they  make 
as  regular  an  allowance  for  it,  in  the  industry  and  economy 


Ch.    4.]  THE    POOR.  131 

Its  abuses.  Cause  of  pauperism.  Its  remedy. 

they  practice  in  the  working  season.  We  do  not  see  this, — 
we  hardly  believe  it  when  it  is  proved, — so  strong  is  that 
mysterious  delusion  by  which  we  always  connect  the  idea  of 
innocence  with  that  of  suffering.  But  the  influence  of  all 
well-known  and  public  arrangements  for  distributing  to  the 
necessities  of  the  able-bodied  poor,  is  unquestionably  of 
this  sort,  and  they  demand  the  most  careful  attention. 
They  may  be,  in  fact,  sometimes  needed.  But  they  ought 
not  to  be  needed,  in  any  country.  There  must  be  some- 
thing wrong  in  the  state  of  society,  where  they  are  de- 
manded, and  statesmen  and  philanthropists  should  set 
themselves  at  work  to  discover  and  correct  this  wrong, 
rather  than  vainly  to  attempt  to  remove  the  symptomatic 
sufferings  which  come  from  it. 

If  in  any  community  there  are  large  masses  of  the  popu- 
lation who  cannot  by  their  labors  procure  their  support,  it 
is  plain  that  this  must  be  owing  to  something  wrong  in  the 
constitution  and  condition  of  society  there;  for  the  pro- 
ducts of  the  general  industry  are  amply  sufficient  for  the 
general  support.  There  can  be  no  question  that  the  culti- 
vated portions  of  the  earth,  do  or  might  produce,  a  very 
plentiful  supply,  both  of  food  and  clothing,  for  all  the 
inhabitants.  If,  therefore,  any  go  unsupplied,  it  must  be 
either  that  they  cannotiabor  to  advantage,  or  that  they  are, 
by  faulty  institutions  or  customs,  deprived  of  their  just  and 
fair  reward.     Both  of  these  two  causes  operate. 

The  ignorant  cannot  work  to  advantage,  because  in 
most  civilized  communities  at  the  present  day,  there  is 
too  much  ignorant  labor  to  supply  the  demand.  To  carry 
forward  the  operations  of  society,  by  which  food  and  cloth- 
ing are  produced,  manufactured,  transported,  and  exchang- 
ed, there  is  demanded  a  certain  amount  of  intelligence,  a 
certain  amount  of  inventive  power,  a  certain  amount  of 
manual  dexterity,  and  a  certain  amount  of  mere  labor.  If 
there  is  an  undue  supply  of  either  of  these,  the  reward  for 
that  which  is  in  excess,  must  sink;  for  the  fair  proportion 


132  THE   WAY    TO    DO    GOOD.  [Ch.  4. 

Too  much  ignorant  labor.  Conclusion. 

of  the  product  of  the  common  industry  will  in  effect  fall 
to  each  class,  and  must  be  divided  among  them;  and 
where  the  claimants  are  numerous,  the  dividend  must  be 
small.  Now  the  market  for  labor,  almost  throughout  the 
civilized  world,  is  glutted,  while  the  demand  for  skill  and 
intelligence  is  but  moderately  supplied.  The  reason  is, 
that  vast  numbers  have  let  themselves  sink  by  their  vices 
to  ignorance  and  degradation,  where  they  can  do  nothing 
but  labor;  and  society  have  allowed  the  mighty  mass  to 
accumulate,  by  not  making  proper  efforts  to  save  their 
children.  While  thus  the  supply  of  mere  muscular  force 
nas  been  increasing,  the  demand  has  been  diminishing,  for 
the  progress  of  civilization  is  continually  finding  ways 
of  accomplishing  by  the  intelligence  and  skill  of  the  few, 
what  was  before  effected  by  the  blind  labor  of  the  many. 
This  double  influence  has  gone  on  until  at  length,  in 
England,  while  the  means  of  comfort  and  happiness  among 
the  upper  classes  of  society,  are  as  abundant  as  they  are 
in  any  part  of  the  world,  there  are  far  more  than  enough 
of  the  ignorant  and  degraded,  who  can  do  nothing  but 
labor,  to  do  all  the  labor  there  is  to  be  done.  The  conse- 
quence is,  their  pay  is  reduced  to  the  very  lowest  ex- 
treme, through  a  competition  sharpened  by  hunger,  and 
urged  on  by  despair;  and  still  there  are  hundreds  of  thou- 
sands who  must  be  fed  by  the  public  or  starve.  Common 
sense  points  out  the  remedy.  Enlightening  and  educating 
them,  and  their  children,  so  as  to  raise  a  portion  of  them 
from  the  ranks  of  mere  blind,  ignorant  laborers,  where  they 
are  not  wanted,  to  spheres  of  action  where  they  can  sus- 
tain themselves,  and  promote  the  general  welfare  by  in- 
telligence and  skill. 

In  a  word,  poverty  and  suffering  in  this  world  are 
generally  only  the  symptoms  of  ignorance  and  sin.  Let 
us  mitigate  the  symptoms  where  they  are  severe.  It  is  our 
imperious  duty  to  do  so.  But  the  great  object  to  be  ac- 
complished is  to  cure  the  disease. 


Ch.  5.]  PROMOTION    OP    PERSONAL    PIETY.  133 

Connection  between  sin  and  suffering. 

CHAPTER  V. 

PROMOTION    OF   PERSONAL    PIETY. 

**  He  that  converteth  the  sinner  from  the  error  of  his  ways,  shall  save  a  soul 
from  death,  and  hide  a  multitude  of  sins." 

It  seems  thus,  from  what  we  have  said  in  the  last  chap- 
ter, that  we  cannot  sunder  the  connection  between  sin  and 
suffering ;  and  there  is  a  little  additional  light  thrown  upon 
our  duty  in  respect  to  the  way  to  do  good  in  this  world,  by 
the  circumstance  that  God  who  can,  will  not.  He  might 
easily  and  at  once,  put  a  final  end  to  all  the  miseries  which 
men  are  every  where  bringing  upon  themselves  by  their 
sins.  How  readily  might  he,  by  a  word,  restore  every 
broken  constitution, — and  bring  back  to  prosperity  every 
wretched  and  ruined  family, — and  heal  every  corroding 
and  cankering  disease, — and  quiet  the  agitations  of  re- 
morse and  despair.  But  he  will  not.  He  has  chosen  to 
connect  by  the  most  fixed  and  steady  laws,  suffering  with 
sin,  and  it  is  remarkable  how  exclusively  all  his  plans  of 
doing  good  to  men  go,  for  their  object,  towards  removing 
the  cause,  and  not  towards  disturbing  this  established 
connection  between  cause  and  consequence.  He  has 
determined  that  the  way  of  transgression  must  be  hard. 
If  man  breaks  his  laws  and  lives  in  sin,  he  will  not  relieve 
him  of  the  penalties,  and  he  puts  it  utterly  out  of  our 
power  to  afford  any  effectual  relief.  Thus  he  cuts  off 
from  man  all  hope  of  happiness  except  from  the  abandon- 
ment of  sin. 

There  is  thus  a  great  difference  between  human  philan- 
thropy and  divine  philanthropy  in  their  way  of  working. 
Men  are  always  trying  to  stop  suffering  directly.  God's 
plans  are  always  aimed  against  sin.  God  sends  prophets 
and  preachers  to  teach.  He  publishes  his  commands. 
12 


134  THE  Way  to  do  good.  [Ch.  5 

Divine  and  human  bencTolence.  Expectations  of  the  young. 

He  makes  known  his  threatenings.  He  displays  con- 
spicuously on  this  theatre  the  moral  example  of  his  Son. 
He  gives  the  innocent  victim  to  death,  to  make  atonement 
for  our  sins,  and  by  his  Spirit  gently  draws  the  heart  to 
penitence  and  submission.  Man,  on  the  other  hand, 
establishes  the  public  infirmary, — gives  money  to  the 
vicious  beggar, —  provides  publicly  for  the  poor, —  and 
builds  the  foundling  hospital.  Let  no  one  understand  me 
to  say  that  these  things  are  wrong.  Some  are  undoubtedly 
right,  and  others  may  be  wrong.  It  is  most  plainly  our 
duty  to  do  the  little  we  can  to  alleviate  the  sorrows  and 
sufferings  of  humanity,  even  if  these  sorrows  are  caused 
by  sin.  All  we  mean  here  to  say  is  that  we  are  prone, 
very  prone  to  turn  our  attention  too  exclusively  to  such 
efforts,  which  must  be  extremely  limited  in  their  success, 
/  and  which  often  create  far  more  misery  than  they  relieve. 
I  The  great  work  of  benevolence  in  this  world,  is  the  work 
I  of  co-operating  with  God  in  attempting  to  redeem  the 

\  HUMAN    RACE    FROM    ITS    SINS. 

The  young  readers,  for  whom  this  book  is  principally 
intended,  will  doubtless  feel  somewhat  surprised  and  per- 
haps a  little  disappointed  at  this  view  of  the  case.  In 
early  life  we  look  upon  the  relief  of  bodily  suffering  as  the 
great  way  of  doing  good,  and  we  regard  money  as  the 
most  powerful  and  ready  means  of  effecting  it.  If  M^e  feel 
any  benevolent  desires,  they  flow  out  in  this  channel,  and 
we  look  forward  with  eager  interest  to  the  time  when  we 
shall  possess  means  of  our  own  for  the  accomplishment  of 
such  plans.  If  there  are  such  among  our  readers,  they 
will  feel  disappointed  and  discouraged  by  the  representa- 
tions we  made  in  the  last  chapter.  But  the  representations, 
though  discouraging,  are  true.  The  more  you  reflect 
upon  it,  the  more  you  will  be  satisfied,  that  God  has  so 
arranged  the  circumstances  of  human  life,  and  so  intimate- 
ly and  inextricably  intertwined  moral  and  physical  evil, 
that  the  latter  admits  of  no  separate  remedy. 


Ch.  5.]  PROMOTION    OP   PERSONAL   PIETY.  135 

The  only  way  to  do  real  and  permanent  good. 

If  then  you  wish  to  devote  your  life  to  the  work  of  doing 
good,  you  must  devote  it  to  a  warfare  against  sin.  You 
can  do  nothing  effectual  in  any  other  way.  You  may  as 
well  attempt  to  hold  back  the  tides  of  the  ocean,  or  to 
exclude  insects  from  the  forest,  or  clouds  from  the  sky,  as 
to  fence  off  hunger,  and  loathsome  disease,  and  squalid 
misery,  from  a  community  filled  with  sin.  On  the  other 
hand,  make  the  most  wretched  outcast  in  the  world,  whose 
sufferings  are  caused  by  his  vice,  a  Christian,  and  the 
work  is  done.  No  matter  for  your  alms,  his  faith  will. save 
him.  Regeneration  cuts  up  the  root  of  wretchedness,  and 
every  bitter  fruit  will  soon  disappear.  The  ragged,  hun- 
gry, diseased  and  miserable  vagabond,  will  soon  be  found 
clothed  and  in  his  right  mind.  Temperance  and  purity  will 
restore  his  health,  and  industry  and  frugality  will  supply 
every  need; — and  the  wretched  suppliant  for  relief  which 
he  never  could  receive,  will  become  the  possessor  of 
independent  happiness,  and  the  dispenser  of  enjoyment  to 
the  little  circle  around  him. 

As  we  have  already  remarked,  this  should  not  prevent 
our  doing  the  little  we  can  to  give  temporary  relief  to  the 
sorrows  and  sufferings  of  men.  We  must  not  leave  even 
guilt  to  bear  its  burdens,  with  the  stern  reproach  that  it 
deserves  them  all.  We  must  feed  the  hungry,  and  clothe 
the  naked,  and  visit  the  sick,  and  do  them  all  the  good  in 
our  power;  No  person  who  reads  the  precepts  or  observes 
the  example  of  Jesus  Christ,  can  possibly  doubt  this.  All 
we  mean  to  inculcate  by  the  foregoing  remarks,  is,  that 
after  we  have  done  all  that  we  can  in  this  way,  we  have 
in  fact,  done  comparatively  nothing.  The  great  source 
of  the  difficulty  remains  untouched,  and  we  accomplish 
nothing  effectual  or  permanent  for  the  good  of  man,  except 
so  far  as  we  promote  his  salvation  from  sin. 

We  come  now,  therefore,  to  consider  the  great  means 
by  which  this  is  to  be  done. 


136  THE   WAY   TO   DO    GOOH.  [Ch.  5 

Power  of  moral  sympathy.  Experiment  with  a  child. 

Our  Savior's  plan  for  the  extension  of  Christianity  in  the 
world,  was,  that  the  spirit  of  piety  should  spread  from  heart 
to  heart,  by  a  sort  of  moral  contagion.  There  was  pro- 
vision made,  it  is  triie,  for  argument  to  convince,  and 
instruction  to  enlighten,  and  threatenings  to  awe  mankind; 
but  from  the  whole  tenor  of  the  Savior's  preaching,  and  his 
whole  course  of  conduct,  it  is  plain  that  he  relied  mostly 
upon  that  practical  manifestation  of  the  power  of  religion, 
which  he  himself  and  his  disciples  were  to  make  to  men. 
The  various  metaphors  he  used  all  indicate  how  much  he 
expected  from  the  moral  influence  of  a  bright  christian 
example.  It  is  surprising  what  an  influence  man  has  over 
man,  by  the  mere  contagion  of  moral  feeling.  Such  is 
human  nature,  that  the  mere  existence  and  exhibition  of  a 
feeling,  right  or  wrong,  in  one  heart  awakens  its  like  in 
the  hearts  that  are  around  it.  A  good  sentiment  or  a  bad 
one  is  spread  among  men  by  the  simple  expression  of  it, 
more  than  by  the  reasoning  by  which  it  is  supported. 
Men  catch  the  spirit  of  it,  and  their  hearts  vibrate  in 
unison,  as  one  cord,  untouched,  echoes  back  the  musical 
tone  that  is  sounded  by  another. 

Few  persons  understand  how  great  this  influence  is, 
which  heart  has  over  heart  by  a  sort  of  sympathy.  And 
yet  you  can  easily  see,  by  many  simple  experiments,  how 
much  stronger  it  is  than  the  power  of  cold  argument,  or 
the  influence  of  a  calculation  on  rewards  or  punishments 
to  come.  We  can,  as  usual  with  moral  experiments,  test 
it  most  easily  with  a  child.  Suppose  his  mother  is  sick  in 
her  bed-room,  and  you  wish  him  to  be  quiet  and  still,  that 
she  may  rest ;  or  rather,  you  do  not  merely  wish  to  produce 
silence  mechanically,  but  you  wish  to  awaken  such  a  feel- 
ing of  love  and  interest  and  sympathy  for  his  mother,  that 
he  shall  take  pleasure  in  being  still.  Now  you  may  try 
two  methods.  First,  argument  and  persuasion;  you  may 
call  him  to  your  side  and  tell  him  how  sick  his  mother  is, 
—how  kind  she  has  always  been  to  him  when  he  was  sick, 


Ch.   5.]  PROMOTION   OP   P£llSOJ*AL   PtEtY.  iSt 

The  power  of  persuasion  and  of  sympathy  Comparfed 

— how  greatly  noise  disturbs  her,  and  how  clearly  it  is  his 
duty  to  avoid  increasing  her  sickness  or  her  suffering. 
You  may,  perhaps,  by  such  a  conversation,  produce  a  slight 
momentary  impression;  but  you  will  more  probably  find 
by  his  restlessness  and  his  wandering  looks,  that  your 
labor  is  in  vain. 

Now  try  the  power  of  moral  sympathy.  Take  your  little 
pupil  by  the  hand,  and  say  to  him,  "  Come — ^we  will  go 
and  see  mother."  As  you  lead  him  by  slow  steps,  up 
the  staircase,  talk  thus.  You  will  observe  that  it  is  not 
reasoning  or  persuasion,  but  only  an  audible  expression  of 
your  own  feelings,  intended  to  awaken,  by  the  power  of 
sympathy,  similar  feelings  in  him. 

"Poor  mother!  I  am  sorry  she  is  sick.  We  will  walk 
very  carefully  and  softly,  so  as  not  to  disturb  her.  I  will 
open  the  door  very  gently.  There," — (in  a  very  gentle 
and  subdued  tone;) — **  she  will  hardly  know  we  are  com- 
ing. We  will  not  disturb  poor  mother.  I  hope  she  will 
get  well;  we  will  be  kind  to  her  and  be  still,  so  that  she 
may  soon  get  well." 

They  who  have  observed  the  character  and  feelings  of 
the  human  heart,  as  exhibited  in  childhood,  will  understand 
how  readily  the  little  pupil  as  he  is  walking  up  the  stairs, 
will  catch  the  spirit  exhibited  so  near  him.  His  loud  step 
will  be  hushed  into  the  most  cautious  tread.  His  boister- 
ous voice  will  subside  to  a  low  murmuring  sound,  and  he 
will  stand,  at  last,  by  his  mother's  bed-side,  full,  for  the 
moment  at  least,  of  the  feelings  of  love,  and  compassion, 
and  interest,  which  you  wished  to  awaken.  You  have 
awakened  them  simply  by  the  power  of  moral  sympathy. 
You  brought  his  heart  near  to  yours,  and  kindled  it  by  the 
flame  that  was  there. 

It  is  so  with  men  as  well  as  with  children.  They  catch 
the  spirit  of  moral  feeling  from  one  another,  to  an  extent  of 
which  the  great  mass  of  mankind  have  a  very  inadequate 
conception.     It  is  so  too,  with  almost  every  kind  of  feeling. 


138  THE  Way  to  do  good."  [Ch.  5. 

I    The  children  in  a  thunder-storm.  Light ;  salt  -,  leaven. 

Let  a  father  come  home  among  his  terrified  children,  in 
a  thunder  storm,  and  without  his  saying  a  word,  his  look 
of  calm  composure,  and  his  quiet  air  will  reassure  them  all. 
It  will  do  far  more  than  words.  Nay,  argument  and  rea- 
soning would  only  interfere  with  its  effect.  Far  the  wisest 
course,  in  such  a  case,  would  be  to  say  not  a  word  about 
safety;  but  while  talking  of  other  things,  to  depend  upon 
the  children's  catching  the  spirit  of  comp^osure.  Fear  will 
spread  thus,  too,  as  well  as  courage.  On  the  field  of  battle 
when  a  few  are  thoroughly  terrified,  it  is  a  most  desperate 
eflTort  only,  which  can  prevent  universal  panic  and  flight. 
It  is  not  that  the  danger  is  greater,  or  that  it  is  better 
understood; — but  that  human  hearts,  when  together,  tend 
strongly  to  beat  in  unison,  and  where  some  go  wrong,  they 
draw  on  others  to  ruin  with  them,  by  this  mysterious  con- 
tagion. 

The  contest  which  is  going  on  in  the  world,  between 
good  and  evil,  is  a  contest  of  feeling,  more  than  one  of 
argument.  Bad  principles  and  bad  passions  spread  by  the 
direct  action  of  heart  upon  heart,  and  good  principles,  and 
benevolent  and  holy  emotions,  appeal  in  the  same  way  to 
the  consciences  of  men,  with  far  greater  power  than  any 
other  moral  causes.  This  is  the  reason  why  our  Savior 
laid  so  much  stress  upon  the  power  and  influence  of  chris- 
tian example.  His  followers  were  to  be  the  light  of  the 
world.  They  were  to  be  the  salt,  which  purifies  and  saves 
by  its  presence,  and  its  direct  and  salutary  action.  They 
were  to  be  the  leaven,  which  communicates  its  own  pro- 
perties to  the  mass  which  surrounds  it,  by  the  simple  in- 
fluence of  its  touch.  In  many  ways,  Jesus  Christ  plainly 
showed  how  much  he  expected  would  be  accomplished  by 
the  moral  power  of  the  mere  presence  and  manifestations 
of  piety  ill  the  midst  of  a  world  lying  in  sin. 

He  ordained  many  other  modes  of  exerting  influence  to 
spread  his  kingdom.  But  they  all  depended  for  their 
success,  in  a  great  measure,  on  being  connected  with  this. 


Ch.  5.]  PR03K>TI0N    OF    PERSONAL    PIETY.  i^^l^ 

The  Savior's  moral  power.  Sermons.  The  mothi   - 

The  gospel  was  to  be  preached  every  where,  but  its  prac- 
tical effects  upon  the  lives  of  those  who  embraced  it,  were 
to  give  power  to  this  preaching.  In  fact,  it  was  our 
Savior's  character  which  gave  their  immense  effect  to  his 
instructions;  and  Paul,  if  he  had  been  a  selfish,  worldly 
man,  might  have  declaimed  against  sin  in  Jerusalem,  or 
Athens,  or  Rome,  for  half  a  century  in  vain.  The  rapid 
progress  of  true  religion  in  early  times,  was  undoubtedly 
owing,  in  a  great  measure,  to  the  lofty  standard  of  practical 
piety,  by  v/hich  the  instructions  of  public  preaching  were 
enforced.  The  pulse  of  ardent  love  to  God,  and  true 
benevolence  to  man,  beat  high  and  strong  in  the  hearts  of 
the  early  Christians;  and  the  warm  fire  is  the  one  which 
spreads  easily. 

It  has  been  the  same  in  principle  ever  since  those  days. 
The  efforts  which  have  been  most  successful  in  bringing 
men  to  repentance  and  salvation  have  been,  not  those  con- 
nected with  the  most  powerful  arguing,  or  the  most  dis- 
tinguished eloquence,  or  the  most  adroit  manoeuvres;  but 
those  which  have  originated  in,  and  been  sustained  by,  the 
warmest  and  most  devoted  piety.  Thus  many  of  the  most 
successful  sermons  have  had  little  literary  merit.  It  was 
the  warm  and  unaffected  spirit  of  the  preacher,  which 
awakened,  by  sympathy,  the  moral  susceptibilities  of  the 
hearer.  Many  a  mother,  in  despair  of  doing  any  thing  her- 
self for  her  child  but  to  pray  for  him,  has  supplied  by  the 
warmth  and  heartfelt  interest  of  the  prayers  which  she  has 
uttered  in  his  presence,  the  very  means  of  his  conversion, 
— so  far  as  human  means  can  go.  The  holy  and  heavenly 
spirit  which  has  glowed  in  her  heart,  the  love  of  the  Savior, 
the  hatred  of  sin,  the  desire  for  spiritual  union  with  God, 
have  been  made  the  means,  by  divine  grace,  of  awakening 
the  moral  susceptibilities  in  the  heart  of  her  child.  Con- 
science has  been  aroused,  and  the  lost  child  saved; — 
while  the  sons  and  daughters  of  many  a  profound  theo- 


140  THE    WAY   TO    DO    GOOD.  [Ch.  5. 

The  way  by  which  religion  is  to  be  spread. 

logian,  of  far  more  extensive  religious  knowledge,  but  of  a 
more  lukewarm  heart,  have  gone  down,  notwithstanding 
all  parental  efforts,  to  the  grave,  in  sin.  And  so  it  has 
often  happened,  that  some  obscure  and  solitary  Christian, 
living  in  want,  and  seeing  all  the  world  above  him,  has 
spent  year  after  year,  thinking  that  he  does  no  good,  and 
can  do  none,  and  wondering  why  God  should  spare  a  use- 
less tree  so  long.  And  yet,  though  he  knew  it  not,  fhe 
light  and  the  influence  of  his  christian  example  have  been 
seen  and  felt  all  around  him.  The  spirit  which  has  reigned 
within  his  bosom,  has  spread,  by  sympathy,  to  many  others; 
and  it  has  often  aroused  conscience,  and  held  back  a  soul 
from  many  of  its  sins,  where  it  could  not  win  it  completely 
to  holiness;  and  thus  God  keeps  this  his  humble  follower 
on  the  stage  of  action,  as  one  of  the  most  efficient  laborers 
in  his  vineyard,  while  he  himself  knows  not  why  he  is 
spared.  Yes,  holiness  itself,  is  the  great  instrument  by 
which  holiness  is  to  be  spread.  It  will  work  most  power- 
fully itself,  by  its  mere  existence  and  manifestation;  and  it 
must  give  to  every  other  means,  almost  their  whole  effi- 
ciency, in  acting  upon  the  human  soul.  Thus  the  exten- 
sion of  Christianity  in  the  world,  is  not  to  be  the  triumph 
of  argument,  nor  the  success  of  manoeuvres, — but  the 
spread  of  feeling  from  heart  to  heart,  by  a  moral  sympathy, 
which  God  by  his  grace  will  make  effectual  to  moral  re- 
newal. 

If  then,  my  reader,  you  wish  to  devote  your  life  to  the 
work  of  doing  good  in  the  most  effectual  manner,  or  rather, 
in  the  only  effectual  manner,  the  main  work  before  you,  is 
the  work  of  saving  souls,  by  cherishing  yourself,  and  ex- 
tending from  yourself  to  others,  the  spirit  of  holy  obedi- 
ence to  God,  and  love  to  men.  This  general  principle 
being,  I  trust,  established,  it  remains  only  to  give  some 
plain  and  practical  directions  for  carrying  it  into  effect. 


Ch.  5.]  PROMOTION    OF    PERSONAL    PlETY.  141 

Preparation.  Honesty.  Assumed  interest  in  religion. 


I.  THE    PREPARATION. 

1.  Be  sure  that  you  are  sincere  and  honest.  We  very 
often  detect  ourselves  in  assuming  involuntarily,  and  al- 
most insensibly,  an  air  and  tone  of  deep  feeling  in  our 
prayers  and  in  our  conversation,  which  we  do  not  really 
possess.  We  know  that  unless  We  are  ourselves  interested 
in  religious  duty,  it  is  in  vain  to  attempt  to  interest  others 
in  it,  and  we  mistake  appearing  interested,  for  actually 
being  so.  How  often  do  we  observe  the  affected  serious- 
ness of  countenance  and  solemnity  of  tone.  How  often  do 
we  detect  ourselves  in  assuming  it.  Hypocrisy  is  one  of 
the  foims  of  sin  into  which  the  human  heart,  prone  to 
iniquity,  most  easily  and  continually  slides.  It  is  one 
which  the  most  sincere  and  devoted  Christian  finds  con- 
tinually taking  possession  of  his  heart,  under  a  thousand 
shapes  and  disguises.  But  our  hypocrisy  seldom  deceives 
any  body  but  ourselves.  The  world  are  quick  to  detect 
the  difference  between  what  is  natural  and  what  is  afiected 
and  assumed.  It  is  real  interest  in  religion, — real,  heart- 
felt attachment  to  God,  and  honest,  friendly  interest  in 
man,  which  the  Spirit  of  God  makes  use  of  as  a  means  to 
touch  the  feelings  of  others,  and  to  arouse  conscience,  and 
awaken  a  sense  of  obligation  to  God;  while  the  affectation 
of  what  is  not  possessed,  is  a  slim  disguise,  which  the  in- 
stinct of  mankind  detects  at  once,  and  repels.  Be  honest, 
then.  Be  natural.  If  you  really  feel  any  warm-hearted 
interest  in  those  around  you,  let  your  words  and  actions 
freely  show  it;  but  if  you  do  not,  guard  most  carefully 
against  the  attempt  to  feign  any.  I  do  not  mean,  guard 
against  a  deliberate  and  understood  intention  to  impose 
upon  men;  for  those  only,  who  are  utterly  destitute  of 
piety  will  be  guilty  of  this;  but  watch  your  heart,  lest, 
adroit  as  it  is  in  eluding  your  vigilance,  and  running  away 
into  sin,  it  should  escape  you  here.  If  you  are  aware  that 
the  real,  unfeigned  interest  which  you  feel  in  the  progress 


142 

THE 

WAY 

TO 

DO    GOOD. 

[Ch. 

5. 

Interest  in  human  salvation. 

Companions ; 

,  friends; 

neighbors. 

of  God's  kingdom  and  the  salvation  of  sinners,  is  not 
enough  to  enable  you  to  go  forward  with  much  success, 
you  must  not  attempt  to  remedy  the  difficulty  by  exhibiting 
more  of  the  appearance,  but  by  securing  more  of  the  reality. 
This  brings  us  to  the  second  of  the  directions  we  proposed 
to  give. 

2.  Cultivate  a  genuine  interest  in  the  salvation  of  men, 
by  appropriate  meditation  and  prayer.  It  should  be  a  part 
of  our  daily  duty,  in  our  hours  of  retirement  and  devotion, 
to  bring  the  spiritual  condition  and  prospects  of  our  neigh- 
bors and  friends  distinctly  before  our  minds.  We  have  in 
the  ordinary  walks  of  life,  so  many  mere  business  dealings 
with  those  around  us,  that  we  soon  come  to  consider  them 
in  the  light  of  mere  business  or  social  connections.  The 
merchant  or  mechanic,  whom  we  meet  with  every  day,  we 
soon  come  to  consider  as  merely  a  merchant  or  mechanic, 
— we  think  of  him  as  a  workman, — we  look  at  his  character 
in  a  business  point  of  view,  and  after  a  short  time,  we  cease 
to  regard  him  as  an  immortal  being,  going  to  the  judgment, 
and  destined  to  an  eternity  of  holy  happiness,  or  of  wretch- 
edness and  sin.  We  forget  that  he  has  a  soul  to  be  saved, 
and  that  the  responsibility  of  doing  something  to  promote 
its  salvation,  devolves  upon  us.  Now,  this  disposition  to 
overlook  the  spiritual  condition  and  prospects  of  our  fellow 
men,  is  one  which  we  can  avoid  only  by  continued  medita- 
tion and  prayer.  We  must  have  time,  when,  in  the  privacy 
of  the  closet,  we  may  regard  our  fellow  men  as  they  are, — 
and  see  their  true  spiritual  condition;  when  we  may  look 
at  our  neighbors  and  friends  with  a  view  to  their  prospects 
as  immortal  beings. 

And  we  must  not  only  think  of  the  character  and  condi- 
tion of  our  companions  and  friends,  in  respect  to  their 
prospects  for  eternity,  but  a  part  of  our  daily  duty  must  be, 
honest,  heartfelt  prayer  for  them.  I  do  not  mean  that  we 
must  utter  a  cold  form  of  petition,  asking,  in  general  terms, 
for  the  conversion  of  sinners,  and  for  the  extension  of  God's 


Ch.  5.]  PROMOTION    OF    PERSONAL    PIETY..  143 

Prayer.  A  test  of  sincere  prayer. 

kingdom.  We  all  do  this  as  a  matter  of  course.  The  lan- 
guage forms  a  part  of  every  prayer,  and  it  is  uttered  by 
thousands  every  morning,  who  feel  none  of  the  desires 
they  seem  to  express.  What  I  mean  by  really  praying  for 
sinners,  is  a  very  different  thing. 

Sincere  prayer  for  the  conversion  of  souls  must  spring 
from  a  distinct  \'iew  of  their  spiritual  danger,  and  an  honest 
desire  that  they  may  be  rescued  from  sin  and  its  conse- 
quences. We  must  think  of  our  neighbors  and  friends,  of 
a  parent,  a  husband  or  a  child,  as  an  enemy  of  God,  justly 
obnoxious  to  his  anger,  and  actually  condemned  already 
With  our  hearts  full  of  compassion  for  them,  and  sorrow 
for  the  awful  fate  which  we  see  impending  over  them,  we 
must  go  alone  before  God,  and  pour  out  our  whole  souls 
before  him,  in  fervent  supplications  that  he  will  have 
mercy  upon  them  and  save  them.  It  is  not  the  cold  repeti- 
tion of  a  form  of  words,  to  which  we  have  become  so 
habituated  that  we  cannot  well  construct  a  prayer  without 
it,  that  will  prevail  with  God.  No,  it  is  the  warm,  deep 
fervency  of  the  heart,  thai  feels  for  the  sorrows  and  suffer- 
ings which  it  wishes  to  relieve. 

There  is  one  test  of  genuine  prayer  for  sinners  which  is 
so  simple  and  so  easily  applied,  that  I  cannot  forbear  men- 
tioning it  here.  It  is  the  freedom  with  which  particular 
cases  are  brought  before  God. 

When  our  devotions  are  cold  and  formal,  we  content 
ourselves  with  generalities;  but  when  prayer  comes  from 
the  heart,  it  is  dictated  by  feelings  of  strong  compassion, 
and  this  compassion  is  awaked  by  considering  the  spiritual 
wants,  and  the  gloomy  spiritual  prospects,  of  individuals. 
We  shall  bring  these  individual  cases  before  God.  We 
shall  come  with  our  neighbors,  our  acquaintances, — the 
one  who  walks  with  us  to  church,  or  who  sits  in  the  same 
seat;  or  our  friend,  or  our  parent,  or  our  child.  We  shall 
bring  the  individual  case  to  God,  with  strong  crying  and 
tears,  that  God  would  save  them, — those  particular  itidivid- 


144  THE    WAY    TO    DO    GOOD.  [Cll.  5. 

Religious  emotion.  Nature  and  province  of  it.  Illustration. 

tiofe,  from  the  woes  and  sufferings  we  see  hanging  over 
their  heads. 

3.  Do  notjjKiWjeyjer»^J^_tao«iU(ch  stress  upon  religious 
emtifion.  One  of  jthe,  most  common  religious  errors  of  the 
present  day,  is,  the  habit  of  confounding  religious  interest 
with  religious  emotion.  Interest  in  religion  is  our  constant 
duty.  Emotion,  is  one  of  the  forms  which  this  interest 
occasionally  assumes.  Now  many  persons  confound  the 
two,  and  think  that  they  are  in  a  cold,  stupid  state,  unless 
their  hearts  are  full  of  a  deep,  overwhelming  emotion. 
They  struggle  continually  to  awaken  and  to  sustain  this 
emotion,  and  are  distressed  and  disappointed  that  they  can- 
not succeed.  They  fail,  for  the  obvious  reason  that  the 
human  heart  is  incapable  of  long  continued  emotion  of  any 
kind,  when  in  a  healthy  state.  Susceptibility  of  emotion  is 
given  by  the  Creator  for  wise  and  good  purposes,  but  it  is 
intended  to  be  an  occasional,  not  an  habitual  state  of  the 
mind;  and,  in  general,  our  duty  is  to  control,  rather  than 
to  cherish  it. 

For  example,  a  man  loves  his  wife  and  his  little  children, 
and  thinks  that  he  may  promote  their  permanent  good  in 
tlie  world,  by  removing  to  a  new  home  in  the  West,  where 
he  can  make  his  labors  far  more  effectual  in  laying  a  foun- 
dation for  their  wealth  and  prosperity,  than  he  can  in  the 
home  of  his  own  childhood.  He  sets  off*,  therefore,  on  the 
long  and  toilsome  journey,  to  explore  the  ground  and  pre- 
pare the  way  for  them  to  follow.  As  soon  as  he  gets  fairly 
upon  the  confines  of  the  settled  country,  his  mind  is  daily 
engrossed  by  his  labors  and  cares.  Now,  he  is  toiling  over 
the  rough  and  miry  road, — now  hesitating  upon  the  bank 
of  a  rapid  stream, — now  making  his  slow  and  tedious  way 
through  the  unbroken  forest,  his  mind  intent  in  studying 
the  marks  of  the  trees,  or  the  faint  traces  of  the  Indian's 
path.  During  all  this  time,  he  feels  no  emotion  of  love  for 
his  wife  and  children,  but  his  mind  is  under  the  continued 
influence  of  the  strongest  possible  interest  in  them.     It  is 


II 


Ch.  5.]  PROMOTION   OF    PERSONAL    PIETY.  145 

The  traveller  at  the  West.  His  letter.  Emotion. 

love  for  them  which  carries  him  on,  every  step  of  the  way. 
It  is  this  that  animates  him,  this  that  cheers  and  sustains; 
while  he  perhaps  very  seldom  pauses  in  his  labors  and 
cares,  in  order  to  bring  them  distinctly  to  his  mind,  and  fill 
his  heart  with  the  flowings  of  a  sentimental  affection. 

At  length,  however,  at  some  solitary  post-office,  in  the 
cabin  of  a  settler,  he  finds  a  letter  from  home,  and  he  lays 
the  reins  upon  his  saddlebow,  and  reads  the  welcome  pages, 
while  his  horse,  willing  to  rest,  walks  slowly  through  the 
forest. 

As  he  reads  sentence  after  sentence  of  the  message 
which  has  thus  found  its  way  to  him  from  his  distant  home, 
his  ardent  affection  for  the  loved  ones  there,  which  has, 
through  the  day,  remained  calm  within,  a  quiet  and  steady 
principle  of  action,  awakes  and  begins  to  agitate  his  bosom 
with  more  active  emotions:  and  when,  at  the  close  of  the 
letter,  he  comes  upon  a  little  postscript,  rudely  printed,  ask- 
ing "  father  to  come  home  soon,"  it  calls  to  his  mind  so 
forcibly  that  round  and  happy  face  which  smiled  upon  him 
from  the  steps  of  the  door  when  he  came  away,  that  his 
heart  is  full.  He  does  not  love  these  absent  ones  any  more 
than  he  did  before;  but  his  love  for  them  takes  for  the 
moment  a  different  form.  Nor  is  it  that  his  affection  is 
merely  in  a  greater  state  of  intensity  than  usual,  at  such  a 
time.  It  is  in  d.  totally  different  state;  different  in  its  nature, 
and  different,  nay,  the  reverse  in  its  tendency.  For  while 
love  as  a  principle  of  action,  would  carry  him  forward  to 
labor  with  cheerfulness  and  zeal  for  the  future  good  of  his 
family, — love,  as  a  mere  emotion,  tends  to  destroy  all  his 
interest  in  going  forward,  and  to  lead  him  to  turn  round  in 
his  path,  and  to  seek  his  shortest  way  back  to  his  home. 
He  readily  perceives  this,  and  though  the  indulgence  of 
such  feelings  may  be  delightful,  he  struggles  to  put  them 
down.  He  suppresses  the  tear  which  fills  his  eye, — folds 
up  his  letter, — spurs  on  his  horse,  and  instead  of  consider- 
ing the  state  of  emotion,  the  one  to  be  cultivated,  as  the 
13 


146  THE    WAY   TO    DO    GOOD.  [Ch.  5. 

Conditions  of  religious  emotion.  Wasted  efforts. 

only  genuine  evidence  of  true  love,  he  regards  it  rather  as 
one  to  be  controlled  and  suppressed,  as  interfering  with 
the  duties  and  objects  of  genuine  affection. 

Now  the  discrimination,  which  it  is  the  design  of  the 
foregoing  case  to  set  in  a  strong  light,  is  very  often  not 
made  in  religion.  But  it  should  be  made.  Piety,  if  it 
exists  at  all,  must  exist  generally,  as  a  calm  and  steady 
principle  of  action,  changing  its  form,  and  manifesting 
itself  as  religious  emotion,  only  occasionally.  The  fre- 
quency of  these  emotions,  and  the  depth  of  the  religious 
feeling  which  they  will  awaken,  depend  upon  a  thousand 
circumstances,  entirely  independent  of  the  true  spiritual 
condition  of  the  soul.  The  physical  influences  by  which 
we  are  surrounded, — the  bodily  temperament, — the  state 
of  the  health, — the  degree  of  pressure  of  active  duty, — 
the  social  circumstances  in  which  we  are  placed, — the 
season,  the  hour,  the  scenery, — a  thousand  things  may, 
by  the  combined  influence  of  some  or  of  all  of  them,  fill  the 
heart  with  religious  emotion, — provided  that  the  principle 
of  religion  be  already  established  there.  But  we  must  not 
suppose  that  religion  is  quiescent  and  inactive  at  other 
times.  Religion  is,  to  say  the  least,  quite  as  active  a  prin- 
ciple, when  it  leads  a  man  to  his  work  in  the  cause  of  God, 
as  when  in  his  retirement,  it  swells  his  heai't  with  spiritual 
joys.  They  are,  in  fact,  two  distinct  forms,  which  the 
same  principle  assumes,  and  we  cannot  compare  one  with 
the  other,  so  as  to  assign  to  either,  the  pre-eminence. 
Neither  can  exist  in  a  genuine  state,  without  some  mea- 
sure of  the  other.  It  is,  however,  undoubtedly  the  former, 
which  is  the  great  test  of  christian  character.  It  is  the 
former,  which  we  are  to  strive  to  establish  in  our  hearts, 
and  in  which  we  may  depend  upon  making  steady  and 
certain  progress  just  in  proportion  to  the  faithfulness  of  our 
vigilance,  and  the  sincerity  of  our  prayers. 

But  in  point  of  fact,  the  attention  of  Christians  in  their 
efforts  to  make  progress  in  piety,  verv  often  looks  almost 


Ch.  5.]  PROMOTION    OF    PERSONAL    PIETY.  147 

Struggling  for  feeling.  The  agency  of  the  Holy  Spirit. 

exclusively  to  the  latter.  They  think  that  continued  reli- 
gious emotion  is  the  only  right  frame  of  mind,  —  while 
the  human  mind  is  so  constituted,  that  continued  emotion 
of  any  kind,  is  consistent  only  with  insanity.  They  toil 
and  struggle  for  emotion, — but  they  labor  in  vain,  for 
emotion  of  any  kind,  is  just  the  very  last  thing  to  come  by 
being  toiled  and  struggled  for.  The  result  is,  therefore, 
either  a  feeling  of  dejection  and  confirmed  despondency — 
or  else  the  gradual  cultivation  of  a  morbid  sentimentalism, 
which  has  nothing  but  the  semblance  of  piety. 

Our  business  then  is,  in  our  efforts  to  bring  our  hearts 
in  a  right  state  in  respect  to  God's  kingdom  in  this  world, 
to  cultivate  a  steady,  healthy,  active  interest  in  it, — not  to 
struggle  in  vain  for  continued  religious  emotion.  If  the 
one  really  reigns  over  us,  it  will  lead  us  to  exactly  the 
right  sort  of  effort  in  God's  cause;  and  it  will  bring  to  our 
hearts  many  happy  seasons  of  the  other,  in  our  hours  of 
retirement,  meditation  and  prayer. 

4.  It  must  be  your  habitual  feeling,  in  all  your  plans  for 
the  salvation  of  souls,  that  you  are  and  can  be  only  the 
instrument, — that  the  only  efficient  means  of  success  must 
be  a  divine  influence  exerted  upon  the  soul.  Consider 
often,  how  radical,  how  entire  is  the  change  which  you 
wish  to  effect.  If  you  only  desired  to  alter  a  friend's  course 
of  conduct,  by  showing  him  another  in  which  he  might 
more  safely  and  certainly  gratify  the  reigning  desires  and 
affections  of  his  heart,  you  might  perhaps  do  it  by  the 
mere  natural  effect  of  the  information  you  might  give.  But 
here,  it  is  the  very  desires  and  affections  of  the  heart 
themselves,  which  you  wish  to  change.  You  are  going  to 
offer  him  the  communion  and  friendship  of  God.  It  is  just 
the  very  thing  he  would  most  dislike  and  avoid.  He  would 
rather  have  God  away  than  near.  You  are  going  to  offer 
him  forgiveness  of  sin,  through  Jesus  Christ,  his  Savior. 
Far  from  valuing  the  forgiveness  of  sin,  which  implies  the 
abandonment  of  it,  it  is  the  continued  commission  of  sin 


148  THE    WAY   TO    BO   GOOD.  [Ch.  5 

Greatness  of  the  change.  Difficulties.  Walk  softly. 

which  he  most  eagerly  clings  to.  The  terms  of  salvation, 
and  the  duties  arising  from  them,  are  humbling:  he  is 
perhaps  hesitating  whether  he  can  comply  with  terms  so 
disagreeable.  He  is  naturally  proud.  He  can  be  pleased 
only  with  what  is  lofty.  Now  his  heart  must  be  changed, 
so  that  he  shall  love  these  very  terms,  and  love  them  on 
the  very  account  of  their  humiliating  character.  He  never 
can  be  saved,  until  he  so  feels  his  sins,  and  the  attitude  in 
which  he  stands  towards  God,  as  to  find  the  lowest  place 
before  the  throne  of  God,  the  one  to  which  he  comes  easily 
and  with  pleasure,  and  where  he  finds  the  greatest  peace 
and  happiness.  You  do  not  come,  therefore,  to  show  the 
soul  a  new  way  to  get  what  it  loves,  but  you  come  to  lead 
it  to  love  what  it  most  dislikes  and  avoids.  Humility, 
penitence,  a  lowly  walk  with  God,  the  ceaseless  presence 
and  restraints  of  divine  communion,  escape  from  sin  and 
every  sinful  pleasure,  and  the  absorbing  of  the  soul  in  holy^ 
spiritual  joys  J — these  favors,  invaluable  as  they  really  are, 
are  not  such  as  we  can  expect  mankind  to  welcome,  if 
left  to  themselves.  In  some  cases,  that  is,  when  you  act 
in  coincidence  with  the  desires  and  affections  of  the  heart, 
the  more  clearly  and  distinctly  you  present  reasonable 
claims,  the  more  certain  it  is,  that  they  will  be  adopted. 
But  the  more  clearly  and  distinctly  you  offer  these  spiritual 
blessings  to  the  world,  the  more  open  and  unequivocal  will 
be  the  decision  with  which  they  reject  them.  For  in  their 
very  nature,  they  run  exactly  counter  to,  and  across  all 
their  natural  feelings,  and  wishes,  and  desires.  God  must 
work  in  them,  to  will  and  to  do.  While  you  kindly  invite, 
he  must  move  their  hearts  to  love  the  boon  you  offer,  and 
to  accept  the  invitation.  You  must  always  feel  this.  It 
will  make  you  quiet,  lowly,  submissive.  You  will  walk 
humbly  and  softly  before  God  in  your  labors  to  promote 
his  cause,  and  it  will  be  safe  for  him  to  give  you  success. 

"Walk  humbly  and  softly  before  God."  there  is  a  great 
meaning  in  these  words.     Like  children,  who  go  out  with 


Ch.  5.]  pftOMO-irioN  op  ^^irsoK-al  pIetv.  149 

The  measures.  Examination  of  the  ground. 

their  father  to  a  work  of  difficulty  or  danger,  too  much  for 
their  feeble  powers.  They  walk  quietly  by  his  side.  They 
speak  to  him  with  subdued  voices,  and  walk  with  cautious 
steps,  looking  up  to  him  for  direction,  and  trusting  to  his 
strength  for  success.  Just  so  the  Christian  should  walk, 
in  his  path  of  active  duty  in  this  world, — humbly  and  softly 
by  the  side  of  his  Father. 

These  suggestions  we  have  offered  in  respect  to  the 
preparation, — the  state  of  heart  appropriate  to  the  work  of 
saving  souls.  We  now  come  to  consider  the  measures 
necessary  in  the  work  itself. 

THE    MEASURES. 

1.  Explore  fully,  the  spiritual  field  around  you.  Not 
a  little  of  good  fails  of  being  accomplished  in  this  world, 
on  account  of  its  not  being  known  how  easily  it  might  be 
done.  Now  every  Christian,  in  his  daily  routine  of  busi- 
ness and  of  intercourse  with  society,  finds  himself  placed 
in  a  little  sphere  of  duty,  which  he  ought  to  consider  as 
assigned  espePially  to  him.  The  portion  of  the  vineyard 
by  which  he  is  immediately  surrounded,  is  the  one  which 
it  is  his  peculiar  province  to  till.  And  he  ought,  first  of 
all,  to  make  himself  carefully  acquainted  with  its  condi- 
tions. We  ought  to  make  it  our  business  to  learn,  by 
delicate,  and  gentle,  and  proper  methods, — the  actual 
spiritual  condition  of  our  acquaintances  and  friends,  so  as 
to  be  ready  to  act  when  there  is  opportunity  for  action. 
Hollow  hearted  and  hypocritical  zeal,  in  attempting  to  do 
this,  will  run  itself  into  continual  difficulties;  and  by  its 
coarse,  obtrusive,  and  censorious  spirit,  close  up  against 
itself,  every  avenue  to  the  heart.  But  humble,  unassuming, 
and  heartfelt  piety,  warm  with  sincere  attachment  to  the 
Savior,  and  honest  benevolence  towards  men,  will  instinct- 
ively do  this  work  without  friction  or  noise. 

The  truth  is,  that  there  exists  to  a  far  greater  extent 
13* 


150  THE    WAY  TO   DO    GOOD.  [Ch.  5. 


Popularity  of  our  Savior's  preaching. 


than  is  generally  supposed,  among  impenitent  persons  in 
every  christian  land,  a  disposition  to  listen,  at  least,  to  the 
claims  of  religion,  and  to  appreciate  efforts  for  their  salva- 
tion, made   in  honest  good  will.     While  the  heart  rises 
against  holiness,  union  with  God,  and  other  spiritual  bles- 
sings, it  still  shrinks  from  the  prospect  of  perpetual  and 
ceaseless  sin;  and  he  who  tries  to  save  his  neighbors  and 
friends  from  this  ruin,  \yill  generally  find,  that  though  they 
may  reject  the  salvation  offered,  and  still  cling  to  sin,  they 
will  generally  feel  a  sentiment  of  kindness  only,  towards 
him  who  faithfully  offered  it.     It  was  so  with  our  Savior's 
preaching,  the  common  impression  to  the  contrary,  not- 
withstanding.    The   ecclesiastical   influence    of  his    day, 
armed  itself  against  him,  but  the  populace   every  where 
thronged   him.     The  common  people  heard   him  gladly. 
They  welcomed  him  when  he  came  in  peace,  with  hosan- 
nas  and  branches  of  the  palm  tree;   and  wfien  his  enemies 
contrived  to  enlist  the  Roman  military  power  on  their  side, 
so  as  to  lead  him  out  to  Calvary, — the  vast  crowds  from 
Jerusalem,    followed   lamenting   and   bewailing   him.     In 
those  throngs,  there  might  have  been  few  who  were  his 
sincere  disciples,  but  though  they  would  not  yield  to  the 
inflexible  demands  of  the  doctrine, — they  could  not  but  be 
touched  by  the  unaffected  and  unceasing  benevolence  of 
the  man.     Now  it  always  has  been  so,  and  it  always  must 
be  so  with  proper  efforts  to  save  men^s  souls.     Faithful 
attachment  to  the  cause  of  God,  will  bring  upon  those  who 
exhibit  it,  persecution,  it  is  true, — but  it  is  the  persecution 
of  the  few,  not  of  the  many.     That  is  the  true  distinction. 
The  Christian  must  expect,  if  he  is  faithful,  to  be  buffeted, 
and    opposed,    and  hated, — but  it  will  only  be  by  a  few, 
whose  peculiar  circumstances,  or  whose  extreme  depravity, 
separates  them  from  mankind  at  large.     He  must  expect 
that  the  mass  of  those  whom  he  endeavors  to  save,  will 
appreciate  his  honest  kindness,  and  feel  something  like 
respect  and  gratitude  towards  him. 


Ch.   5,]  PROMOTION   01*   PERSONAL   PIETY.  l5l 

Limitation  of  the  principle.  Estimation  of  virtue  in  this  world. 

These  remarks,  however,  we  wish  the  reader  especially 
to  observe,  are  intended  to  apply  almost  exclusively  to 
private  intercourse  with  neighbors  and  friends,  in  a  quiet 
Christian  community,  where  the  principles  and  duties  of 
Christianity  are  in  theory  admitted.  When  christian  prin- 
ciple comes  to  array  itself  in  opposition  to  powerful  inter- 
ests, or  to  the  prevailing  habits  or  pursuits  of  the  commu- 
nity, it  often  awakens  universal  and  most  bitter  hostility, 
Such  emergencies  have  often  occurred.  The  Savior  fore- 
saw one  of  them  in  the  circumstances  in  which  the  apostles 
were  to  go  forth,  after  his  death,  in  a  course  whose  tenden- 
cy would  be  to  undermine  and  destroy  great  nattonal  sys- 
tems of  superstition.  Hence  he  gave  them  the  warning; 
the  plain  and  solemn  warning,  which  would  have  damped 
any  courage-  but  that  which  he  himself  directly  sustained.* 
In  respect,  however,  to  the  ordinary  personal  intercourse 
of  private  Christians,  with  their  impenitent  neighbors  and 
friends,  in  a  land  like  ours,  we  at  least  ought  not  to  anti- 
cipate hostility.  Many  circumstances  in  the  past  history 
of  piety,  show  that  men  have  often  been  disposed  to  per- 
ceive its  excellence  in  others,  even  when  they  would  not 
yield  to  its  influences  themselves.  Abraham  was  received 
with  favor  where  he  went.  Joseph  was  generally  respect- 
ed and  beloved.  They  were  few  who  lowered  him  into 
the  pit,  and  sold  him  into  slavery.  The  character  of  Dan- 
iel commanded  admiration,  though  there  were  malignant 
'  individuals  who  plotted  against  his  life.  John  the  Baptist 
was  in  no  danger  from  the  throngs  around  him,  while  de- 
fenceless, and  in  the  solitary  wilderness,  he  reproved  them 
of  sin.  They  loved  to  hear  him.  It  was  the  hate  of  only 
one  adulteress,  and  the  cruelty  of  one  tyrant,  which  cost 
him  his  life.  So  the  general  popularity  of  our  Savior  as  a 
preacher,  the  crowds  that  every  where  thronged  him,  tes- 
tify.     His  enemies  were  few,  though  they  were  powerful 

*  Matt,  x:  16—33. 


r52  TH£    WAY  TO   DO  GOOD.  [Ch.   5. 

Common  impression.  A  distindtion. 

enough,  with  the  help  of  Roman  spears,  to  lead  him  to  the 
cross.  And  lastly,  Paul  found  a  welcomOj  and  listening 
hearers  wherever  he  went.  His  dangers  and  difficulties 
were  the  work  of  a  small  number  of  designing  men,  and 
the  populace  moved  against  him  only  when  these  few,  by 
falsehood  and  misrepresentation,  urged  them  on. 

Now  \Ve  are  slow  to  make  the  distinction  pointed  out 
above.  We  are  apt  to  imagine  that  inasmuch  as  faithful, 
christian  effort,  must  expect  opposition  in  every  age,  it 
must  expect  it  from  every  person;  and  we  sometimes  go 
about  our  work,  expecting  to  be  met  every  where  with  the 
look  of  hostility  and  defiance.  And  going  with  the  expec- 
tation of  finding  this  feeling,  we  insensibly  speak  and  act 
in  such  a  manner  as  to  awaken  it.  The  reader  may  have 
been  accustomed  to  take  a  diflferent  view  of  the  feelings 
with  which  the  mass  of  mankind  are  prepared  to  receive 
honest  eflTorts  for  their  spiritual  good,  yet  the  more  he 
reflects  upon  it,  the  more  he  looks  at  the  testimony  of 
scripture,  and  the  history  of  the  church,  the  more  he  will 
be  satisfied  that  the  view  above  presented,  is  true.  If  it  is 
true,  it  is  plain  that  we  must  go  about  the  work  of  seeking 
and  saving  men,  with  the  feeling,  that  our  efforts,  if  pro- 
perly and  kindly  made,  will  not  be  angrily  received.  That 
hostility  and  hatred  are  to  be  expected  only  from  a  few, 
but  that  the  great  majority,  while  they  will  still  perhaps 
love  and  cling  to  their  sins,  will  appreciate  and  feel  the 
kindness  which  attempts  to  save  them  from  future  misery. 

It  is  very  probable,  now,  that  some  reader  who  may  have 
perused  these  last  paragraphs,  without  very  discriminating 
attention,  may  understand  me  to  say  that  the  natural  heart 
has  no  feeling  of  hostility  to  the  claims  of  God's  law. 
Whereas,  a  little  attention  will  observe  that  I  say  no  such 
thing.  On  the  other  hand,  I  have  repeatedly  asserted 
exactly  the  contrary.  There  is  hostility  to  the  claims  of 
God's  law,  but  not  always  hostility  to  the  messenger  who 
kindly  presents  those  claims.     It  may  seem  strange,  per- 


1 1    Ch.  5.]  PROMOTION    OP    PERSONAL    PIETY.  153 

II ■ 

1 1        We  must  expect  a  welcome.  Favorable  opportunities. 

haps,  that  a  man  should  feel  gratitude  and  attachment  to 
the  friend  who  endeavors  to  save  him  from  the  sin,  while 

!■:  he  yet  loves  the  sin,  and  clings  to  it,  and  is  determined  not 
I  to  let  it  go.  But  such  is  human  nature,  and  the  experience 
f  of  every  Christian  who  has  been  faithful  in  his  Master's 
work,  will  readily  call  to  mind  many  cases  in  illustration 
of  it. 
1 1  We  are  to  make  it  our  business  then,  to  look  around 
over  the  field  to  which  God  has  assigned  us,  with  the 
expectation  of  finding,  in  ordinary  cases,  a  welcome,  not  a 
repulse,  in  our  efforts  to  save  the  soul.  This  expectation 
should  lead  us  to  go  forward  boldly,  but  at  the  same  time, 
delicately  and  kindly.  \Vc  must  be  active,  and  faithful, 
and  frank,  and  courageous,  while  at  the  same  time  we  are 
mild  and  unassuming.  If  our  hearts  are  really  in  it,  it  will 
be  easy  and  pleasant  work,  and  we  shall  have  far  more 
numerous  opportunities  for  doing  something  for  the  cause 
of  God,  than  we  have  supposed. 

J     Almost  every  Christian  would  find  within  his  family,  or      \ 
within  the  circle  of  his  acquaintance,  several  persons  who       \ 
are  constantly  expecting,^ — even  desiring  that  he  will  in- 
troduce religious  conversation  with  them.    Gently  pressed, 
from  time  to  time,  for  many  years,  perhaps,  with  feeble 
convictions  of  sin,  they  are  continually  hopiYig  that  some 
faithful,  christian  friend  will  address  th«m.    AThough  they 
I  L  dislike  the  service  of  God,  and   contmue  accordingly  to       j 
I  K    live  in  sin,  conscience  is  not  quiet,  and  the  ftiture  is  dark-      / 
1^  ened  by  their  foreboding  fears.     They  are  inexcusable  for      / 
I    continuing   thus   in   sin,    waiting    for   an   influence    from    / 
I    another, — but  yet  this  influence,  if  exerted,  might,  very 
I    probably,  be  the  effectual  instrument  in  leading  them  to 
I     repentance.     Now  see  to  it,  my  reader,  that  no  such  cases 
I'    exist  near  to  you.     Perhaps  there  are  some.     Explore  the 
I    ground  and  see.    It  may  be  your  most  intimate  and  familiar 
I    companion,  whom  you  have  seen  every  day  for  years,  and 
I    conversed  with  on  every  subject  of  interest  to  you  both, 


154  THE    WAY    TO    DO    GOOD.  [Ch.  5 

Artifice.  Anonymous  letters.  Courtesies  of  social  life. 

/  except  the  salvation  of  your  souls;  it  is  strange,  but  it  is 

I     very  often  the  case,  that  the  Christian  and  the  sinner  who 

are  most  closely  associated  in  the  family,  or  in  the  business 

or  social  relations  of  life,  are  those    between  whom  the 

subject  of  salvation  is  most  shunned. 

2.  These  views  of  the  condition  an^ji  of  the  feelings  of 
mankind  in  respect  to  the  efforts  made  for  their  salvation, 
should  lead  you  to  be  frank,  and  open,  and  candid,  in  all 
that  you  do  and  say.  Expect  to  be  met  with  a  friendly 
spirit;  and  act  accordingly,  with  frankness,  openness,  and 
honesty.  Resort  to  no  artifices,  no  contrivances,  no 
management.  An  anonymous  letter,  a  concealed  tract,  a 
covertly  insinuated  reproof,  w'\\\  awaken  nothing  but  dis- 
pleasure, v/here  an  honest,  direct  and  friendly  communica- 
tion would  be  received  in  the  -spirit  with  which  it  was 
given.  In  being  open,  however,  be  careful  not  to  be 
ostentatious,  and  never  let  frankness  degenerate  into  dis- 
respectful familiarity,  nor  honesty  become  bluntness,  nor 
plain  dealing,  coarse  obtrusion.  In  all  your  religious  in- 
tercourse also  with  others,  be  governed  entirely  by  those 
rules  of  delicacy  and  propriety  which  constitute  the  cement 
and  the  charm  of  social  life.  Perhaps  no  error  is  more 
common,  than  for  a  professing  Christian,  forward  and  zeal- 
ous in  his  Master's  cause,  to  consider  himself  absolved 
from  all  obligjktio^is  like  these.  The  lofty  nature  of  the 
work  he  has  to  do,  mes  so  high,  he  imagines,  as  to  lift  him 
above  all  the  restraints  of  these  principles  of  action  by 
which  human  conduct  is  ordinarily  controlled.  Sad  mis- 
take! It  is  not,  however,  that  the  work  of  saving  souls 
ought  to  be  sacrificed  to  the  principles  of  human  courtesy, 
but  that  it  cannot  go  on  in  defiance  of  them.  The  paths 
in  which  we  have  to  labor,  in  promoting  the  salvation  of 
men,  are  the  avenues  to  the  human  heart,  and  we  cannot 
succeed,  if  we  resort  to  measures  by  which  every  such 
avenue  is  barred  up  and  defended. 

I  ought,  however,  here,  and  repeatedly  in  the  course  of 


I     Ch.   5.  I  PROMOTIOX    OF    PERSONAL    PIETY,  155 

Discussions.  Trutli  spiritually  discerned.  Examples. 

these  remarks,  to  remind  my  readers  that  these  directions 
are  intended  mainly  for  common  Christians  in  the  walks 
of  private  life.  Cases  do  doubtless  often  occur,  in  which 
persons  holding  important  stations  in  the  church,  and  even 
private  Christians,  are  bound  to  rebuke  sin  and  sinners  in 
the  most  decided  manner.  Nay,  prevailing  sins  in  a  com- 
munity, may  sometimes  call  for  an  array  of  the  followers 
of  Jesus  Christ,  in  an  attitude  of  open  and  positive  hostility. 
These  cases  we  do  not  here  include  We  refer  only  to 
the  private  efforts  of  individual  Christians,  in  the  common 
walks  of  life,  to  spread  their  Master's  spirit  from  goul  to 
soul. 

3^^enex^allyi^aiiUiid-4ise«ssioii__Qf  doctrine  with  religious 
inQuiLG^i™J:^M?!®  isjijiouble  reason  for  this.  In  the  first 
pla^,_ywi„(mnaQtreinoYe  -the  theoretical  difficulties  which 
cluster  about  the  subject  of  religion,  while  the  heart  of  the 
ing^uiref'rerhains  unchanged;  and  then  in  the  second  place, 
if  y^tt  could  do  it  by  great  effort,  this  labor  may  as  well 
be  spared, — for  if  the  change  in  the  heart  is  once  eflected, 
these  difficulties  will  melt  away  of  themselves,  and  all 
your  labor  of  endless  debate  will  be  saved.  The  need  of  a 
Savior,  for  instance,  you  cannot  establish  by  argument,  to 
the  satisfaction  of  a  mind  insensible  of  guilt.  But  let  the 
moral  sensibilities  be  once  awakened, — brin ^conviction  of 
sin,  and  the  soul  will  hunger  and  thirstier  »  Savior,  with 
an  ardor  of  desire  which  nothing  bufflan  atoning  sacrifice 
of  the  Son  of  God,  will  effectually  relieve  and  satisfy.  So 
in  regard  to  the  agency  and  the  influence  of  the  Holy 
Spirit; — there  are  a  thousand  questions  connected  with 
that  subject,  which  cannot  be  understood  by  any  mind  in 
which  those  influences  have  not  been  felt.  But  where  they 
have  been  felt,  although  the  subject,  even  then,  may  not 
be  theoretically  understood,  all  the  practical  difficulties  at 
once  disappear.  So  with  the  desert  of  sin, — and  the  just 
weight  and  duration  of  future  punishment;  they  cannot  be 
seen  by  a  mind  that  is  impenitent  and  worldly.     Many  such 


V 


136  THE    WAY    TO    DO    GOOD.  [Ch.  5. 

Effect  of  a  discussion.  A  common  error. 


minds  may,  indeed,  from  the  influence  of  early  education, 
receive  unquestioned,  the  scripture  statements  on  all  these 
subjects;  but  if  they  do  not  receive  them, — if  they  have 
begun  to  entertain  doubts,  or  to  feel  difficulties,  you  can- 
not easily  solve  or  remove  them  by  theological  discussion, 
while  the  subject  of  them  remains  in  his  sins.  A  dis- 
cussion, though  begun  on  his  part  with  an  honest  desire  to 
have  his  difficulties  removed,  will  soon  become  a  contest 
for  victory;  and  far  from  solving  his  doubts,  it  will  be  quite 
as  likely  that  he  will  defeat  you,  as  that  you  will  satisfy 
him.  The  reason  is,  that  the  truths,  or  rather  the  elements 
to  which  the  truths  relate,  which  you  wish  to  make  plain 
to  him,  are  spiritually  discerned,  and  he  in  his  present 
state,  cannot  know  them.  He  may  take  them  upon  trust 
from  others;  but  he  cannot  see  them  with  his  own  eyes, 
or  believe  them  with  his  own  faith,  till  his  eyes  have  been 
opened  by  influences  very  diflferent  from  those  of  theologi- 
cal discussion. 

There  prevails  among  irreligious  men,  I  mean,  those 
who  feel  any  interest  at  all  in  the  subject  of  salvation,  an 
impression  that  they  must  have  clear  ideas  of  truth,  before 
they  are  under  any  obligation  to  do  dutij.  They  talk  of 
looking  into  the  subject  of  religion,  of  inquiring  into  the 
tenets  of  diffeftnt  persuasions,  as  preliminary  altogether  to 
personal  pietw  T^y  seem  to  imagine  that  so  long  as 
peculiar  circumstanced, — such  as  the  pressure  of  business, 
or  the  apparent  balance  of  the  argument, — keep  them  from 
coming  to  a  decision  about  the  theory,  they  are  under  no 
practical  obligations  whatever.  The  latter  may,  they 
think,  properly  remain  in  suspense,  until  the  former  are 
all  settled;  and  the  more  argument  and  debate  you  hold 
with  them,  the  more  permanent  is  this  impression.  But 
the  truth  is,  there  is  very  little  theoretical  truth  whose 
possession  is  necessary  to  bring  upon  a  man  the  whole 
force  of  imperious  obligation  to  repent  of  his  sins.  There 
is  one  question,  it  is  true,  which  a  man  must  have  know- 


Jl      Ch.   5.]  PROMOTION    OF    PERSONAL    PIETY.  157 


Degree  of  knowledge  necessary  to  salvation. 


ledge  enough  to  answer.  "Have  I  ever  done  wrong?  " 
If  the  powers  of  his  feeble  intellect  grope  in  darkness,  in 
respect  to  this  question,  his  Maker  will  doubtless  hold  him 
exempt  from  moral  obligation,  through  the  imperfection  of 
his  faculties.  But  if,  on  the  other  hand,  he  has  light 
enough  for  this,  he  need  not  wait,  certainly,  for  more. 
The  duty  of  repentance  presses  upon  him  with  the  whole 
weight  of  her  claims.  Until  these  claims  are  admitted,  he 
ought  not  to  expect  to  make  successful  progress  in  under- 
standing the  nature  of  God's  government,  or  his  relations 
to  men.  How  can  he  expect  it,  while  he  shows  himself 
(jrod's  enemy,  by  clinging  to  acknowledged  sin. 

Our^rst-great-  duty,  then, -^^^rith  religious  inquirers,  is  to 
bring  them,  not  to  correctness  of  theological  sentiment, — 
but  To"  lieartfelt  conviction  of  sin:  and  this,  not  because 
corfectness  of  religious  sentiment  is  not  immensely  impor- 
taiit,"^ur^ecause  it  is  impossible  to  force  it  upon  an  im- 
penitent heart  by  the  mere  power  of  reasoning.  Error 
comes  through  the  corruption  of  the  heart;  and  the  full 
establishment  of  the  truth  must  be  expected  from  its  purifi- 
cation. The  Spirit  does  indeed  make  the  truth  the  instru- 
ment of  conviction  and  conversion;  nay  more,  the  truth  is 
the  only  instrument; — but  the  important  point  to  be  no- 
ticed is,  that  there  is  truth  enough,  which  blazes  before 
the  mind  and  conscience  of  every  man,  to  bying  upon  him 
the  full  force  of  moral  obligation,  though  there  may  be 
many  things  connected  with  revealed  religion,  which, 
through  the  insensibility  of  a  hardened  heart,  or  the  feeble- 
ness and  imperfection  of  human  powers,  are  involved  in 
obscurity.  Press,  therefore,  the  obligations  arising  out  of 
truths  which  cannot  be  denied,  and  by  the  blessing  of  the 
Holy  Spirit,  you  may  hope  to  awaken  spiritual  sensibility, 
by  means  of  which  the  soul  which  you  are  attempting  to 
save,  shall  hunger  and  thirst  after  more. 

For  example,  we  will  suppose  that  an  impenitent  man 
in  conversing  with  a  religious  friend,  under  some  circum- 
14 


IbQ  THE    WAY    TO    DO    GOOD.  [Ch.  5. 

A  dialogue.  Investigation  not  the  first  duty. 

stances  which  have  awakened  temporary  seriousness,  ex- 
presses his  state  of  mind  as  follows.  The  replies  and 
remarks  of  the  Christian,  illustrate  the  course  indicated  by 
these  principles. 

Sinner.  This  subject  has  lately  been  a  good  deal  upon 
my  mind.  I  have,  however,  some  difficulties.  I  have 
been  inclined  to  disbelieve  the  doctrine  of  future  punish- 
ment,— ^but  some  things  lately,  have  led  me  to  fear  that  I 
may  have  been  mistaken,  and  I  intend  to  take  hold  of  the 
subject,  and  examine  it  fairly  and  thoroughly.  Can  you 
recommend  to  me  any  books? 

He  says  this  with  an  air  of  satisfaction,  as  if  his  christian 
friend  would  receive  the  intimation  with  joy  and  pleasure, 
and  regard  his  determination  to  give  both  sides  a  fair  hear- 
ing, as  a  very  meritorious  act. 

His  friend  replies, 

"  I  could  name  to  you  some  books,  but  I  should  hardly 
advise  you  to  attempt  such  an  investigation," 

"Should  not  advise  me  to!"  exclaims  the  inquirer, 
"why  not?" 

"  No,  sir,  I  should  not  think  that  your  first  step  would 
be  to  examine  that  subject." 

"Why  not?" 

"  Will  you  allow  me  to  ask  you  a  question?  Perhaps  I 
ought  not  to  ask  it;  but  since  you  request  my  advice  in 
respect  to  your  religious  course,  and  as  I  cannot  give  it 
without  distinctly  understanding  the  facts,  I  know  you  will 
excuse  it.     Are  you  in  the  daily  habit  of  secret  prayer?  " 

"  Why, — no  sir, — I  cannot  say  that  I  am." 

"  You  believe  there  is  a  God?  " 

"  Certainly,  I  do." 

"  And  that  he  exerts  a  constant  oversight  and  care  of  all 
his  creatures?  " 
'Yes,  sir." 

"  Do  you  think  it  right,  or  wrong  then,  for  us  to  live  in 
the  neglect  of  all  communication  and  intercourse  with 
him?" 


Gh.   5.]  PROMOTION    OF    PERSONAL    PIETY.  159 

The  difficulty  in  the  heart.  Another  case. 

"  It  is  wrong, — I  must  admit." 

"  I  must  ask  one  more  question  about  it.  When  you 
consider  the  whole  case,  our  connection  with  God  and  his 
commands, — do  you  think  it  very  wrong,  or  only  mode- 
rately wrong,  to  live  many  years,  as  you  have,  without 
any  intercourse  with  him." 

The  man  is  silent.  Utter  speechlessness  is  the  proper 
answer  to  such  a  question. 

"Now,  sir,  I  think  there  is  a  far  more  important,  and 
more  profitable  question  for  you  to  examine,  than  the 
question  of  future  punishment.  It  is  this.  Why  is  it  that 
you  are  doing  now,  and  have  been  doing,  year  after  year, 
for  a  very  long  time,  what  you  must  see  is  the  height  of 
ingratitude  and  sin.''  " 

"  Why,  sir,  the  truth  is,  I  have  not  thought  much  about 
it." 

"  True:  but  that  only  brings  up  the  question  in  a  little 
different  form.  How  could  you  have  lived  so  long,  with 
so  many  memorials  of  God  all  about  you,  and  so  many 
calls  to  love  and  serve  him,  and  yet  not  think  much  about 
it?  If  you  go  to  examining  the  subject  of  future  punish- 
ment, you  may,  perhaps,  get  engaged  in  the  discussion,  so 
that  your  reasoning  powers  will  be  interested;  but  while 
your  heart  remains  in  its  present  state,  you  will  end  as  you 
began, — your  reason  perplexed  by  the  opposing  argu- 
ments, and  your  conscience  asleep,  as  it  has  been,  in  sin. 
But  if  you  look  "into  your  heart,  in  view  of  your  life  of 
ungodliness  and  sin,  with  humble  prayer  that  God  will 
help  you  understand  it,  and  that  by  his  grace  he  will  renew 
it,  you  may  hope  to  be  saved." 

Or  perhaps  the  inquirer  comes  with  the  same  dijfficulty, 
but  in  a  little  different  spirit.  He  wants  to  argue  the  case 
directly  with  you.  He  knows  that  you  believe  in  the  eter- 
nal suffering  of  the  wicked,  and  comes  with  a  store  of 
objections  and  arguments,  to  refute  the  opinion.     Now, 


1^0  THE    WAY   TO   DO    GOODf.  [Ch.  5. 

A  proposed  argument.  Its  uselessness.  The  proper  course. 

however  strongly  you  may  yourself  believe,  and  however 
clear  the  arguments  may  stand  in  your  own  mind,  and 
however  easily  you  may  be  able  to  set  aside  every  objec- 
tion, you  can  make  no  progress  in  a  debate  with  such  a 
man.  If  he  is  a  good  disputant,  he  will  know  how  to  em- 
barrass and  perplex  you,  though  he  may  have  a  bad  cause. 
If  he  is  a  bad  one,  he  will  not  understand  your  arguments, 
or  appreciate  the  force  and  bearing  of  what  you  say;  but 
he  will  be  slipping  off,  and  flying  away  in  every  direction, 
— and  after  an  hour^s  debate,  you  will  find  that  you  have 
made  no  progress  whatever. 

You  may  say  to  him  then, 

"Suppose  you  should  have  such  an  argument,  what 
would  be  the  result  ?  Suppose  that  you  should  convince 
me  that  there  is  no  punishment  for  sin,  in  another  world, 
what  then?  " 

"Why  then  I  should  expect  you  would  give  it  up,  and 
not  let  us  hear  any  more  of  it." 

*' And  suppose  I  should  gain  the  victory,  and  prove  to 
your  satisfaction,  that  there  is  a  judgment  to  come,  and 
that  you  will  be  called  t )  account  there  for  all  your  sins  in 
this  world.?" 

"  Why — in  that  case, — I  should  admit  it,  if  you  con- 
vince me  satisfactorily.'* 

"And  should  you  feel  an  obligation  to  attend  to  the 
subject  of  religion?  " 

"Yes,  I  should,"  he  replies  decidedly. — "  If  you  will 
convince  me  that  there  is  to  be  a  judgment  after  death,  I 
promise  you,  that  I  will  immediately  attend  to  the  subject 
of  religion." 

"  What  do  you  mean  by  religion?  " 

"  Why — we  both  understand  what  is  meant  by  it. — I 
cannot  undertake  to  define  it." 

"I  understand  by  it,  repenting  of,  and  abandoning  all 
sin,  and  beginning  to  love  and  serve  God,  in  hope  of  for- 
giveness through  Jesus  Christ."     "  Very  well." 


ir 


Ch.  5.]  PROMOTION    OP    PERSONAL   PIETV.  161 

Aim  to  produce  conviction  of  sin.  Means  of  grace. 

"  You  admit  this.  Well,  just  see  in  what  state  of  mind 
you  are,  when  you  come  to  have  a  discussion  with  me. 
You  will  not  repent  and  abandon  sin,  or  begin  to  love  and 
serve  God,  because  you  think  you  are,jiot  to  be  called  to 
account  for  it.  If  I  can  prove  to  you  that  there  is  a  future 
world  of  eternal  suffering,  and  that  you  must  be  ruined  if 
you  die  as  you  are,  then  you  will  alter  your  course,  and 
begin  to  love  God;  otherwise,  you  will  not.  Now  I  know 
that  I  never  could  convince  you,  while  you  are  in  this  state 
of  mind.     It  would  do  no  good  to  try." 

Your  companion  will  find  it  difficult  to  reply  to  this,  and 
you  can  easily  lead  him  to  see,  that  the  facts  in  his  case 
indicate  a  sad  state  of  dislike  to  God  and  hostility  to  his 
reign;  and  that  instead  of  disputing  on  the  question  whether 
he  is  to  escape  punishment  for  this  or  not,  he  ought  to 
humble  himself  at  once  before  God,  and  secure  his  forgive- 
ness: for  whether  he  is  to  be  punished  or  not  for  it,  it  is, 
undoubtedly,  a  most  heinous  sin.  So  in  all  other  cases. 
A  man  living  in  impenitence  and  sin,  is  not  in  a  state  of 
mind  to  be  convinced  of  religious  truth  by  disputation; 
and  it  is  wiser  and  better  that  the  attempt  should  not  be 
made.  This  subject,  however,  will  come  before  us  again 
in  another  chapter. 

4.  Endeavor  to  lead  the  inquirer  immediately  to  use  the 
means  of  grace,  honestly  and  faithfully.  Let  him  begin  to 
read  the  bible  every  day,  and  to  pray  to  God  in  secret,  and 
in  his  family,  if  he  have  one.  Show  to  him  that  he  ought 
at  once  and  openly  to  abandon  his  sinful  and  worldly 
courses,  and  to  devote  a  portion  of  his  time  to  reading, 
meditation,  religious  conversation,  and  prayer.  We  some- 
times shrink  a  little  from  giving  these  directions,  lest  they 
should  turn  off  the  attention  from  the  duty  of  immediate 
repentance,  and  lead  to  a  round  of  mere  external  duties, 
instead  of  forming  that  vital  union  with  the  Savior,  by 
penitence  and  faith,  which  can  alone  save  the  soul.  And 
there  is,  in  fact,  some  danger  here,  but  this  should  not 
14* 


*62 

THE   WAY    TO    DO    GOOD. 

[Ch  5. 

Common  impression ; 

—groundless. 

Immediate  action. 

prevent  our  pressing  upon  the  impenitent  sinner,  his  whole 
duty,  as  claiming  at  once  his  immediate  attention;  and 
these  things  are  unquestionably  a  part  of  it.  It  is  his 
undoubted  duty  to  commence  immediately  the  study  of  the 
bible,  and  secret  prayer; — not  hypocritically,  or  from  mere 
selfish  fear  of  future  punishment, — but  with  honest  sinceri- 
ty, and  from  a  heartfelt  and  holy  desire  to  know  and  do 
the  will  of  God.  "  But,"  say  you,  "  he  has  not  such  holy 
desires, — his  mind  is  only  under  the  influence  of  selfish 
fear,  and  if  he  performs  these  external  duties  at  all,  it  will 
be  such  in  a  manner  as  will  only  increase  his  guilt." 

True,  I  reply,  I  will  allow  it.  I  will  allow  that  at  the 
moment  of  your  giving  the  advice,  the  heart  of  the  sinner 
is  unchanged,  and  that  without  thorough  moral  renewal,  all 
his  external  duties,  will  be  merely  superficial  and  hollow, 
— an  abomination  in  the  sight  of  God; — though  whether 
they  would  be  a  greater  abomination  than  utterly  neglect- 
ing them,  may  not  be  certain.  Still,  how  and  when  are 
we  to  expect  such  a  moral  renewal  as  is  necessary,  to  take 
place?  How  and  when  are  we  to  expect  new  and  holy 
desires  to  spring  up  in  the  darkened  and  obdurate  heart.' 
What  occasions  are  we  to  hope  that  the  Spirit  will  make 
use  of,  to  renew  the  soul,  and  awaken  spiritual  life  there,? 
There  can  be  but  one  answer.  The  right  feeling  is  most 
reasonably  to  be  expected  to  arise,  in  conjunction  with  an 
effort  to  perform  the  right  act.  If  a  hundred  religious 
inquirers  were  to  be  told  simply,  that  it  would  be  useless 
for  them  to  attempt  to  do  their  duty,  until  their  hearts  are 
changed,  they  would  imagine  that  they  had  nothing  to  do, 
but  to  wait  for  this  change,  and  the  result  would  be,  re- 
turning indifference  and  stupidity,  or  else  a  gloomy  and 
settled  discouragement,  or  despair.  On  the  other  hand,  if 
the  religious  teacher  should  urge  immediate  action,  press- 
ing, at  the  same  time,  the  indispensable  necessity  of  holy 
motive,  the  very  change  desired,  would  be  most  likely  to 
take  place  simultaneously  with  the  attempt  to  comply.    We 


Ch.  5.]  PROMOTION   Of    PERSONAL   PIETY.  113 

Religious  duties  of  the  impenitent. 

say  to  an  impenitent  sinner,  "  Go  to  your  closet,  and  there 
spread  out  your  sins  before  God,  confessing  and  giving  up 
every  one,  but  be  sure  that  you  do  it  honestly.  Hate  and 
loathe  them,  while  in  the  act  of  thus  confessing  them.  Be 
sure  to  be  honest  with  God."  We  say  this,  not  with  the 
idea  that  it  is  possible  for  a  sinner,  remaining  impenitent  in 
heart,  to  make  an  acceptable  confession, — but  because  we 
hope  that  the  moment  of  falling  upon  his  knees  in  solitude, 
or  the  moment  of  determining  to  do  so,  or  some  other 
moment  during  the  season  of  confession,  may  be  the  one 
chosen  by  the  Holy  Spirit,  to  renew  and  sanctify  the  dark- 
ened and  sinful  soul.  So  we  should  say,  "You  ought  to 
set  apart  a  time  every  day  for  reading  the  bible,  attentively 
studying  it,  and  praying  at  the  same  time  for  God's  guidance 
and  blessing  in  enabling  you  to  understand  and  do  his 
will."  And  this,  not  that  we  imagine  that  the  reading  of 
the  Scriptures,  while  the  heart  remains  hostile  to  God,  can 
be  a  service  at  all  acceptable  to  him, — but  because  we 
hope  that  the  first  sincere  and  honest  desire  to  do  God's 
will,  may  be  awakened  by  the  renewing  influences  of  the 
Spirit,  while  the  sinner  is  in  the  attitude  of  studying  to  knoiu 
it.  So  with  all  the  other  means  of  grace,  and  external, 
religious  duties.  The  turning  of  the  soul  towards  them  are, 
and  always  have  been,  the  occasions  which  God  has  most 
frequently  seized  upon,  to  renew  and  sanctify  the  soul. 
Inquire  of  your  religious  acquaintances  and  friends,  and 
they  will  almost  with  one  voice,  tell  you  so.  One  felt  the 
first  emotions  of  penitence  arising  in  his  heart,  while  he 
was  uttering  the  language  of  penitence.  Another  first 
turned  his  soul  to  God,  while  reading  of  his  holiness,  his 
majesty,  his  glory,  in  his  Word.  A  third  submitted,  while 
on  his  knees  in  prayer.  It  is  not  indeed  always  so.  We 
can  assign  no  limits,  nor  prescribe  any  universal  rule  to  the 
operation  of  the  Spirit  upon  the  heart;  but  it  is  perfectly 
safe  to  say  that  it  is  generally  so.  An  immensely  large 
proportion  of  the  conversions  which  take  place,  take  place 


164  THE   WAY   TO   DO    GOOD.  [Ch.  5. 

Instructions  of  the  bible.  Paul's  case.  General  directions. 

while  the  soul  is  in  such  an  attitude  as  I  have  described. 
Our  duty  is,  therefore,  towards  our  impenitent  friends,  to 
endeavor  to  bring  them  into  this  attitude.  We  must  lead 
them  to  commence  immediately  the  performance  of  every 
known  duty, — charging  them,  however,  to  be  sure  that 
they  do  it  with  right  feelings  of  heart.  We  cannot  be  too 
careful  in  leading  them  to  see,  that  if  they  should  do  these 
things  with  hearts  still  remaining  hostile  to  God,  instead  of 
doing  any  thing  to  merit  his  favor,  they  only  provoke  his 
displeasure  more  and  more. 

We  shall  find,  on  examination,  that  the  instructions 
given  in  the  bible,  correspond  with  these  views.  The 
direction  given  to  religious  inquirers,  is,  in  a  vast  number 
of  instances  there,  not  the  naked  and  simple  direction  to 
begin  io  feel  right,  but  to  begin  to  do  right,  in  the  exercise 
of  right  feelings.  See,  for  example,  John's  preaching,  our 
Savior's  calls  to  his  apostles, — the  whole  tenor  of  the 
Sermon  on  the  Mount,  and,  as  a  case  peculiarly  in  point, 
the  directions  given  by  our  Savior  to  Saul. 

"Lord,  what  wilt  thou  have  me  to  do?  " 

''Arise,"  is  the  answer,  "  and  go  into  the  city,  and  it 
shall  be  told  thee  what  thou  shalt  do."  Here  is  a  simple 
act  to  be  performed.  Not,  in  itself,  at  all  of  a  religious 
nature ;  but  it  was  to  be  performed  on  a  principle  of  obe- 
dience and  faith.  Paul  obeyed;  and  his  rising  to  go  into 
the  city,  in  obedience  to  his  Savior's  commands,  was  per- 
haps the  commencement  of  his  submission  and  his  love, 
and  of  that  long  continued  and  most  devoted  attachment, 
which  waters  could  not  quench,  nor  floods  drown. 

In  many  other  instances,  however,  in  the  New  Testa- 
ment, the  direction  is  more  general.  Repentance,  as  a 
feeling  of  the  heart,  is  directly  enjoined,  and  we  ought 
always  to  enjoin  it,  so  that  the  inquirer  may  never,  for  a 
moment,  imagine  that  any  thing  but  a  radical,  moral  re- 
newal, can  ever  make  him  a  child  of  God,  or  a  fit  inheritor 
of  heaven. 


Ch.  5.]  PROMOTION    OP    PERSONAL    PIETY.  165 

Philosophy  of  human  nature.  Immediate  duty. 

It  is  interesting  to  observe  how  the  operations  of  the 
Holy  Spirit,  in  renewing  the  human  heart,  correspond  with 
the  philosophy  of  human  nature,  in  respect  to  all  other 
moral  action;  for  we  can  in  all  other  cases,  best  secure 
right  feeling,  by  enjoining  a  corresponding  right  act.  If 
the  Samaritan  had  called  back  the  Levite  to  the  wounded 
traveller,  and  remonstrated  with  him  on  his  unfeeling 
heart,  and  urged  him  to  feel  more  kindly,  and  then  to  come 
and  help  him  relieve  the  sufferer,  he  would  probably 
have  remonstrated  and  urged  in  vain.  And  yet,  if  he  had 
said,  "  Come  help  me  raise  this  poor  sufferer  and  carry 
him  to  the  inn,  he  will  die  if  we  leave  him  here," — the 
Levite  might  perhaps  have  responded  to  the  appeal,  and 
kind  feeling  might  have  been  awakened  in  his  heart,  by  the 
very  performance  of  a  kind  action.  So  when  Nehemiah 
said  to  his  brethren,  "  Come,  let  us  build  again  the  wall 
of  Jerusalem,"  he  awoke  more  effectually,  the  spirit  of  pa- 
triotism, among  his  countrymen,  by  thus  calling  upon  them 
to  act,  than  he  could  have  done  by  the  most  powerful 
appeal  to  the  feelings  alone.  Such  is  human  nature. 
Right  sentiments,  and  right  emotions,  come  most  readily 
in  conjunction  with  right  action,  and  God,  in  the  operations 
of  his  Spirit,  conforms  to  those  laws  of  the  human  heart 
which  he  has  himself  ordained. 

We  never  need  fear,  therefore,  pressing  upon  sinners, 
the  claims  of  immediate  duty,  in  action,  if  we  at  the  same 
time,  press  the  indispensable  necessity  that  such  duty  should 
be  performed  under  the  impulse  of  renewed  affections. 
Lead  them  to  seek  salvation  diligently,  in  the  use  of  the 
means  which  God  has  appointed.  There  can  be  no  rea- 
sonable ground  of  hope  for  those  who  neglect  them. 

5.  In  all  conversation  with  religious  inquirers,  we  ought 
to  feel  ourselves,  and  lead  them  to  feel,  that  entering  the 
service  of  God,  is  a  very  great  step,  which  changes  the 
whole  plan  and  object,  and  alters  all  the  enjoyments  and 
sufferings  of  life.     The  Christian  who  begins  his  new  life 


166  THE    WAY   TO   DO    GOOD.  [Ch.   5. 

Promote  a  very  tUorough  change.  Approximation  desirable. 

with  an  idea  that  it  is  a  slight  thing,  will  never  make  a 
very  efficient  Christian.  If  we  take  any  proper  views  of  it, 
it  is  a  very  great  thing,  and  we  ought  to  take  special  care 
that  all  our  influence  over  those  who  are  seeking  salvation, 
should  be  such  as  to  lead  them  to  a  very  thorough  change. 
We  must  not  heal  the  hurt  of  sin  slightly,  and  thus  make 
superficial,  heartless  and  worldly  Christians, — to  do  nothing 
while  they  live,  but  hover  about  the  line  between  the 
friends  and  the  enemies  of  God,  and  thus  obliterate  the 
distinction  which  God  intended  to  have  as  strongly  marked 
as  possible.  Let  it  be  a  pure,  a  devoted,  a  thoroughgoing 
piety,  which  our  efforts  may  help  to  spread. 

6.  At  the  same  time,  we  should  be  pleased  with  every 
approximation  to  what  is  right.  If  men  will  not  actually 
do  their  duty,  the  nearer  they  come  to  doing  it,  the  better. 
And  yet  there  is  a  very  common  impression  that  it  is  not 
so.  It  is  very  often  said,  for  example,  that  there  is  more 
hope  of  an  open  enemy  of  religion,  than  of  one  who  is 
upright,  and  moral,  and  regular  in  outward  observances. 
But  it  is  the  love  of  paradox  which  gives  such  a  sentiment 
currency  among  mankind.  Let  any  one  look  at  the  history 
of  any  church,  with  which  he  has  been  connected,  and 
inquire  from  what  classes  of  the  community,  the  greatest 
number  of  additions  to  it,  have  been  made.  It  will  be 
found,  almost  universally,  that  though  there  may  be  many 
detached  instances  of  the  conversion  of  the  infidel  or  the 
reviler,  the  profligate,  the  bold  and  open  enemy  of  God, — 
yet  that  these  cases  are  comparatively  few.  The  great 
majority  of  admissions  to  the  christian  church,  are  from 
the  class  of  the  moral,  the  thoughtful,  the  regular  atten- 
dants upon  christian  worship,  and  the  readers  of  his  Word. 
When  religion  is  revived,  numbers  from  this  class  arise, 
give  up  their  sins,  and  enter  the  service  of  God;  and 
others  are  brought  into  their  places,  to  become  themselves 
the  subjects  of  renewing  grace  at  a  future  time.  Let  no 
one  infer  from  this,  that  a  man  is  any  the  less  guilty  of 


1 1      Ch.  5.1  PROMOTION    OF    PERSONAL    PIETY. 


167 


It  lessens  danger,  though  not  guilt.  Cases. 

neglecting  and  disobeying  God,  because  he  is  regular  and 
upright  in  the  performance  of  his  outward  duties.  I  have 
not  said  that  he  is  the  less  guilty,  but  only  that  he  is  in 
less  danger.  His  danger  is  indeed  appalling, — if  he  could 
but  see  it, — appalling  in  living  even  for  a  day  in  sin,  when 
he  is  every  moment  liable  to  be  called  into  eternity.  Still 
it  is  less  than  if  he  were  the  open  and  avowed  enemy  of 
religion.  So  that  if  we  really  wish  to  save  men,  we  shall 
desire  to  bring  them  as  near  as  we  can  to  salvation.  In- 
duce as  many  as  possible  to  enter  the  narrow  way,  and 
then  bring  as  many  more  as  possible  up  near  to  the  gate; 
and  those  which  are  more  remote,  and  will  not  come  near 
to  it,  perhaps  may  be  induced  to  approach  a  little.  All 
approximation,  while  it  does  not  diminish  their  sin,  may 
diminish  their  danger. 

If,  for  instance,  you  have  a  neighbor  who  hates  religion 
and  its  friends,  and  has  walled  himself  in,  so  that  you  can 
gain  no  access  to  him  with  religious  truth,  you  can  do  him 
a  kindness,  if  opportunity  offers,  and  thus  connect  in  his 
mind  one  pleasant  association  with  a  religious  man.  It  is 
one  step.  A  small  one,  I  grant;  but  its  influence  is,  so  far 
as  it  has  any  influence,  to  bring  him  a  little  more  within 
the  reach  of  a  call  which  may  ultimately  awaken  him. 
He  remains  quite  as  much  the  enemy  of  God,  as  before, 
— quite  as  hostile, — quite  as  inexcusable, — but  his  case  is 
not  quite  so  hopeless.  In  the  same  manner,  if  there  is 
near  you,  a  family  living  in  heathen  indifference  and  neg- 
lect of  the  ordinances  of  God,  and  you  can  bring  them  to 
his  house,  and  aid  them  to  find  their  regular  seat  there, 
'and  lend  them  suitable  books,  for  the  Sabbath,  and  intro- 
duce the  children  into  the  Sabbath  school, — you  will  have 
made  important  progress,  though  perhaps  every  member  of 
that  family,  may  be  as  decidedly  the  enemy  of  God,  as 
fully  obnoxious  to  his  displeasure  afterwards,  as  before. 
You  have  made  progress,  for  you  have  brought  them  fairly 
within  that  circle,  over  which  the  waters  of  salvation  flow, 


G3 

THE 

WAY 

TO 

DO    GOOD. 

[Ch.  5. 

iimily  brought 

near. 

Approximation 

A 

to  right  opinions. 

and  in  years  to  come,  there  will  probably  be  found  among 
the  children  and  children's  children  of  that  family,  many  a 
christian  household,  and  many  a  saved  soul, — though  your 
effort,  in  its  immediate  results,  did  not,  in  the  least,  diminish 
the  moral  distance,  which  separated  the  objects  of  it  from 
God.  And  once  more.  If  you  have  within  the  circle  of 
your  acquaintance,  persons  of  upright  and  moral  character, 
and  you  can  induce  them  to  read  the  Scriptures  daily,  and 
to  establish  family  prayer,  even  if  they  continue  unchang- 
ed, your  labor  is  not  lost.  They  are  not  indeed  made  half 
Christians.  There  is  no  such  thing  as  a  half  Christian. 
They  remain  the  enemies  of  God,  while  their  hearts  are 
alienated  from  him;  the  more  clearly  the  light  of  the  gos- 
pel shines  around  them,  the  more  evident  and  striking  will 
appear  their  guilt,  when  God  calls  them  to  account.  Still, 
though  there  may  be  no  piety,  there  is  a  slight  increase  of 
hope.  You  bring  them  habitually  under  the  influence  of 
the  truth,  and  this  is  the  only  means  by  which  they  can  be 
saved; — and  every  approach  to  what  is  right,  quickens  the 
moral  sensibilities,  and  makes  the  next  step  easier. 

In  the  same  manner,  approximation  towards  right  opin- 
ions, is  always  desirable.  It  is  better  to  be  a  Deist,  than 
on  Atheist,  and  a  nominal  Christian,  however  heartless, 
iiiixn  either.  It  is  better  to  receive  the  New  Testament 
only  as  a  revelation,  than  to  reject  both  new  and  old.  He 
who  acknowledges  God,  but  rejects  a  Savior,  is  not  in  a 
condition  so  desperate,  as  he  who  rejects  both  Maker  and 
Savior  too.  Persons  embracing  a  corrupted  or  defective 
form  of  Christianity,  are  more  accessible,  conscience  is 
more  easily  awakened,  conviction  of  sin  and  penitence  are 
more  readily  felt,  than  under  the  deadening  influence  of 
paganism.  Many  of  my  readers  may  have  been  accustom- 
ed to  think  diflferently.  The  truth  is,  we  have  generally 
the  most  controversy  with  those  who  differ  the  least  from 
us,  and  so  we  magnify  and  exaggerate  the  importance  of 
the  difference,  and  say  in  the  ardor  of  our  zeal,  that  our 


Ch.  5.]  PROMOTION   OP   PERSONAL   PIETY.  169 

The  greatest  error  the  most  dangerous.  Caution. 

immediate  opponents  are  doing  more  injury  than  those 
who  reject  a  great  deal  more.  But  if  we  look  at  facts,  we 
shall  find  that  it  is  not  so.  If  we  take  any  community, 
which  is  divided  into  various  sects,  holding  every  form  and 
degree  of  error,  from  pure  evangelical  Christianity,  down 
to  open  Atheism,  we  shall  find  that  the  spread  of  real  piety 
among  all  these  classes,  will  bear  a  pretty  just  proportion 
to  the  distance  at  which  they  respectively  stand  from  the 
standard  of  scripture  truth.  Instead,  therefore,  of  looking 
with  a  jealous  and  malignant  eye,  upon  those  who  differ 
least  from  us,  we  should  be  glad  to  have  them  as  near  as 
they  are;  and  while  we  do  every  thing  in  our  power,  to 
keep  the  standard  of  piety  among  the  followers  of  Jesus 
Christ,  elevated,  and  the  standard  of  doctrine  pure,  we 
should  rejoice  at  every  approximation  which  we  can  effect, 
either  towards  the  one  or  the  other. 

It  would  be  wrong  to  bring  this  chapter  to  a  close, 
without  reminding  the  reader  once  more,  in  the  most  dis- 
tinct and  emphatic  manner,  that  his  only  hope  of  success 
in  his  efforts  to  save  his  fellow  men,  is  in  divine  influences 
exerted  upon  the  heart,  in  connection  with  his  endeavors. 
We  have  no  new  truths  to  present  to  the  minds  of  men, 
and  no  new  means  to  try.  Our  friends  and  neighbors  who 
are  living  in  sin,  know  all  that  we  can  tell  them;  and  in 
repeating  efforts  which  have  been  made  before,  in  vain, 
our  only  hope  must  be,  in  the  renewing  agency  of  the  Holy 
Spirit.  Besides,  if  we  were  coming  to  our  fellow  men  with 
the  first  tidings  which  ever  reached  them  of  God,  and 
duty,  and  judgment  to  come,  we  could  expect,  if  unaided, 
nothing  but  unqualified  and  universal  rejection  of  the 
claims  of  religious  duty.  Persuasion,  which  is  often  pow- 
erful in  altering  hugian  conduct,  can  never  change  the 
human  heart.  You  may  persuade  a  proud,  ambitious  man, 
to  take  this  or  that  course  to  gain  his  objects,  but  you  can 
never  'persuade  him  to  be  humble.  Men  generally  dislike 
15 


ttO  THE    WAY    TO    DO    GOOD.  [Ch.  5. 

Dependence  on  divine  influences. 

and  loathe  the  idea  of  having  God  present  with  them  at  all 
times,  and  you  can  never  reason  them  into  loving  it.  The 
experiment  would  be  like  that  of  the  foolish  nurse,  who 
tries  to  make  the  shrinking  child  believe  that  the  medicine 
she  offers  him,  is  pleasant  to  the  taste.  She  argues, 
entreats,  assures,  but  all  in  vain, — the  palate,  whose  re- 
volting tendencies  lie  beyond  the  reach  of  such  means, 
still  rebels.  And  so  with  the  unrenewed  soul  of  man:  the 
difficulty  with  him  is  not  ignorance,  it  is  not  darkness, — 
it  is  not  mistake,  but  it  is  that  spiritual  pleasures, — growth 
in  holiness,  and  the  happiness  of  union  with  God,  are 
exactly  what  he  most  dislikes,  and  most  wishes  to  shun; 
and  the  more  distinctly  and  clearly  you  present  salvation 
to  him, — for  it  is  these  things  which  salvation  means, — the 
more  distinctly  he  understands  what  it  is,  the  more  decid- 
edly, if  left  to  himself,  will  he  reject  it.  It  is,  therefore, 
not  enough  to  say  that  the  work  to  be  done  in  saving  men 
from  sin,  is  too  great,  in  degree,  for  our  powers,  but  it  is 
removed,  by  its  very  nature,  from  the  field  in  which  we 
can  exercise  them;  and  if  we  rightly  understand  this,  if 
we  see  the  subject  in  the  light  in  which  both  the  bible, 
and  a  sound  philosophy  exhibit  it,  we  shall  work  humbly 
while  we  work  diligently;  and  when  God  gives  success  to 
our  efforts,  by  the  renewing  agency  of  his  Spirit,  our 
hearts  will  glide  spontaneously  into  the  ascription,  "Not 
unto  us,  not  unto  us,  but  unto  God  be  all  the  glory." 

In  a  word, — our  efforts  to  do  good  in  this  world,  in  order 
to  be  successful,  must  be  grounded  on  the  fact  that  it  is  a 
world  lost  in  sin.  It  is  strange  that  even  philosophers,  not 
to  say  professed, Christians,  could  ever  have  doubted  this. 
It  would  seem  that  every  one,  must  be  at  once  convinced 
of  it,  by  contrasting  the  admirable  sujfcess  of  all  the  other 
works  of  God,  in  answering  their  purposes,  with  the  con- 
spicuous and  universal  failure  of  man,  as  a  moral  being,  to 
answer  his.     Let  the  eye  rove  over  this  visible  creation, 


Ch.  5,]  PROMOTION    OP    PERSONAL    PIETY.  171 

Perfection  of  nature,  and  moral  ruin  of  man. 

and  observe  our  fruitful  fields,  our  splendid  skies,  our 
glorious  sun.  Watch  the  movements  and  the  changes 
which  the  elements  undergo,  and  see  how  admirably  heat 
and  cold, — vapor,  hail  and  snow, — the  rolling  ocean,  and 
the  soaring  cloud,  do  the  bidding  of  God,  and  accomplish 
to  perfection,  their  purposes.  Whether  you  regard  the 
grandeur  of  design,  or  the  mightiness  of  execution,  or  the 
inconceivable  perfection  in  the  finish  of  details,  all  will 
impress  you  with  an  idea  of  the  lofty  standard  which  the 
Great  Architect  haa  aimed  at,  and  reached,  in  all  his 
works.  You  may  go  into  the  forest,  and  examine  as 
minutely  as  you  please,  the  most  unknown  and  concealed 
wild  flower  which  grows  there.  Look  at  its  form,  its 
colors, — the  grace  and  beauty  of  its  movements,  as  it 
waves  in  the  wind,  whose  movements  are  adjusted  to  an 
exact  equilibrium  with  the  strength  and  pliancy  of  its  stem 
Observe  the  mechanism  by  which  the  seed  is  produced, 
and  the  perfection  of  its  structure  when  formed,  and  pack- 
ed with  a  hundred  others,  as  perfect  as  itself,  in  its  little 
capsule.  Or  look  at  the  little  insect  creeping  upon  its 
stalk,  so  minute,  that  you  must  magnify  it  a  hundred  times 
to  distinguish  the  brilliancy  of  its  coloring  and  the  perfec- 
tion of  its  members.  Or  if  you  wish  to  take  a  specimen  on 
a  larger  scale,  look  into  the  heavens,  and  study  the  ar- 
rangements and  the  motions  of  the  solar  system;  and  look 
at  the  admirable  success  of  these  arrangements  in  produc- 
ing here  the  change  of  day  and  night,  summer  and  winter, 
and  all  the  agreeable  vicissitudes  of  the  year.  Study  the 
movements  of  the  great  machine,  and  find  if  you  can,  the 
jar,  or  the  friction,  or  the  irregularity.  It  has  been  in 
ceaseless  motion  for  forty  centuries,— time,  one  would 
think,  to  test  the  mechanism. 

But  when  you  come  to  look  at  man,  considered  as  a 
moral  an4  social  being,  gathered  into  communities  here, 
to  accomplish  those  purposes  of  holiness  and  happiness 
which  a  benevolent  Deity  must  have  intended,  in  calling 


172  THE    WAY    TO    DO    GOOD.  [Ch.  6. 

Man  a  moral  wreck.  Influence  of  Christianity  on  the  community. 

moral  and  sentient  beings  into  existence,  you  see  a  most 
conspicuous  and  terrible  case  of  failure.  The  plans  which 
God  has  formed  for  his  social  prosperity  and  happiness,  are 
all  deranged  by  his  sins.  The  family,  the  home,  the  con- 
nection which  binds  parent  to  child,  and  child  to  parent,  the 
social  relations  which  link  society  together,  all  these  in- 
tended fountains  of  happiness,  are  poisoned  and  spoiled  by 
sin.  Yes,  all  physical  nature  is  great  and  glorious, — but 
man  is  degraded  and  in  ruins.  Every  thing  else,  is  right, 
but  his  heart  is  wrong.  The  object  of  bis  being,  he  does 
not  accomplish;  the  happiness  which  is  within  his  reach, 
and  which  he  was  made  to  enjoy,  he  does  not  gain;  and 
he  stands  forth,  in  the  view  of  all  the  intelhgent  creation, 
a  mournful  spectacle  of  ruin.  It  would  seem  that  no  man, 
who  would  candidly  look  at  the  facts,  could  ever  for  a 
moment  imagine,  that  the  world  is  at  all  in  the  moral  and 
social  condition,  in  which  God  intended  it  to  be.  No,  it  is 
a  world  in  ruins, — *'  a  moral  wreck,  and  our  business  is, 
while^we  live  here,  to  save  as  many  from  it,  as  we  can." 


CHAPTER  VI. 

PUBLIC     MORALS. 


**  By  manifestation   of  the   truth,  commending   ourselves   to   every   man*s 
conscience  in  the  sight  of  God." 

Christianity  has  not  only  the  power  to  secure  eternal 
life  to  those  who  personally  yield  to  her  claims, — she  also 
exerts  an  immense  influence  in  purifying^  and  preserving 
the  whole  social  community.  She  has,  however,  done  less 
than  christian  writers  have  often  claimed  for  her.  She  has 
not  put  a  stop  to  war;  she  has  not  put  a  stop  to  slavery,  or 
the  slave  trade;  she  has  not  infused  moral  principle  into 
the  mass  of  any  extended  populace,  so  as  to  prevent  the 


Ch.  6.]  PUBLIC    MORALS.  173 


Christian  and  Pagan  countries.  Crime  and  punishment  in  Boston. 

necessity  of  governing  them  by  physical  force;  and  it  is 
actually  difficult  to  ascertain,  from  the  contradictory  reports 
of  intelligent  travellers,  whether  life  and  property  are  safer, 
or  the  state  of  public  morals  less  corrupt,  in  Paris  or  Lon- 
don, than  they  are  at  Constantinople,  or  on  the  banks  of 
the  Hoang-ho. 

We  say,  it  is  difficult  to  ascertain, — ^the  difference  is  so 
much  less  than  it  ought  to  be.  The  inquiry,  fairly  made, 
however,  gives  a  result  greatly  in  favor  of  Christendom. 
Life  and  property  are  safer,  and  public  morals  are  far,  very 
far  less  corrupted  in  English  villages,  among  the  hills  and 
valleys  of  Scotland,  in  Germany,  France,  Italy,  and  New 
England, — than  on  the  shores  of  the  Caspian  Sea,  or  on 
the  plains  of  China,  or  in  Syria  or  Java,  or  on  the  banks 
of  the  Niger  and  the  Nile.  And  the  difference  is  greater 
in  reality,  than  in  appearance,  for  we  must  consider,  not 
only  the  actual  state  of  public  order  which  prevails,  but 
the  comparative  degree  of  governmental  pressure,  which 
is  found  necessary  in  the  respective  countries,  to  secure  it. 
The  quiet  and  peace  which  reign  in  the  interior  of  Christ- 
ian countries,  are  maintained  by  a  far  lighter  hand,  than 
that  which  is  necessary  to  control  a  community  of  Moham- 
medans or  Pagans.  A  criminal  in  Boston  has  a  remote  and 
uncertain  prospect  of  suffering  before  him,  to  deter  him 
from  crime.  There  is  his  hope  of  escaping  detection, — 
for  there  is  no  argus-eyed  police,  or  watchful  spy,  taking 
note  of  his  movements.  Then  there  are  the  forms  through 
which  he  must  pass,  the  extreme  scrupulousness  with 
which  every  evidence  against  him,  not  strictly  legal,  will 
be  rejected;  the  ingenuity  of  his  advocate;  the  feelings  or 
the  doubts  of  his  jury ;  and,  lastly,  the  calm  impartiality  of 
his  judge,  under  the  influence  of  no  wish,  bm  to  make  the 
punishment  as  light  as  justice  will  possibly  allow.  How 
different  from  the  stern  and  unfeeling  severity,  with  which 
the  criminal  of  Constantinople  is  taken  to  the  nearest 
officer  of  justice,  who  is,  perhaps,  responsible  for  the  order 
15* 


174  THE    WAY    TO    DO    GOOD.  [Ch.  6, 

Crime  and  punishment  in  Constantinople. 

of  his  district,  with  his  head,  and  there,  without  ceremony 
or  delay,  bastinadoed,  hung,  drowned,  strangled,  or  impal- 
ed. Yes;  to  ascertain  (he  powei-  of  Christianity  upon  the 
condition  of  the  community,  we  must  take'  into  view,  not 
only  the  degree  of  public  order  which  christian  and  un- 
christian countries  secure,  but  the  comparative  amount  of 
despotic  pressure  and  severity  which  they  find  necessary 
in  order  to  secure  it. 

The  truth  is,  that  a  certain  degree  of  regard  for  life  and 
property,  and  of  public  order,  is  necessary  for  the  very  ex- 
istence of  society;  and  governments  insensibly  assume  the 
degree  of  power,  be  it  more  or  less,  which  may  be  neces- 
sary to  secure  this.  So  that  the  influence  of  Christianity 
upon  a  nation,  will  show  itself,  at  first,  not  so  much  in 
lessening  the  amount  of  vice  and  sin,  as  in  diminishing  the 
pressure  necessary  to  keep  it  within  bounds.  It  lightens 
the  hand  of  government,  and  softens  its  asperities.  For  it 
is  public  opinion  which  supports  even  the  strongest  gov- 
ernments,— an  opinion  based  on  the  necessity  of  suppres- 
sing disorder  and  crime.  Christianity,  by  diminishing  the 
tendency  to  disorder,  compels  government  to  lighten  its 
hand.  We  see,  therefore,  in  the  comparative  mildness 
and  gentleness  of  christian  governments,  a  tribute  to  the 
salutary  influence  of  Christianity.  But  when  we  make 
the  influence  which  she  has  exerted,  as  great  as  we  can, 
by  this  and  other  considerations,  how  far  is  it  below  what 
it  ought  to  have  been.  How  sad  is  the  moral  and  social 
condition  of  the  most  highly  christianized  country  on  the 
globe.  How  much  is  yet  to  be  done  in  England  and 
America,  in  removing  abuses,  arresting  the  progress  of 
public  vice,  and  «n  carrying  the  light,  and  the  happy  influ- 
ence of  the  "gospel  into  the  great  mass  of  society.  How 
many  wrongs  are  yet  unredressed;  how  many  vices  yet 
urwestrained;  how  many  unnecessary  sorrows  and  suffer- 
iiigs  reign  every  where,  which  Christianity,  even  in  its 
indirect  influence,  might  easily  remove. 


II      Ch.  6.]  PUBLIC    MORALS.  175 


The  Christian's  appropriate  work. 


This  chapter  is  to  be  devoted  to  a  consideration  of  this 
subject; — the  way  by  which  Christianity  is  to  produce  its 
salutary  effect  upon  the  moral  and  social  condition  of  the 
community.  Of  course,  the  reader  will  not  expect  a  spe- 
cific plan  of  operations,  for  the  removal  of  particular  evils. 
These  will  vary  with  the  nature  of  the  evil  to  be  remedied, 
and  the  extent  of  the  moral  means  which  may  be  brought 
to  bear  upon  it.  Our  design  will  therefore  be,  not  to  lay 
down  plans  of  proceeding  for  particular  cases,  but  to  bring 
to  view  such  general  considerations,  as  ought  to  be  kept  in 
mind,  and  allowed  to  influence  our  measures,  and  regulate 
the  feelings  of  heart  with  which  we  attempt  to  carry  our 
measures  into  effect. 

1 .  It  is  a  very  serious  question,  and  one  which  the  Christ- 
ian community  ought  to  consider  well,  how  far  we  are  to 
leave  our  appropriate  work  of  directly  building  up  the 
kingdom  of  Christ,  for  the  purpose  of  going  forth  into  the 
world,  to  correct  evils  and  abuses  which  reign  there.  No 
one,  who  understands  at  all  the  nature  of  sin  and  its  reme- 
dy, can  doubt  that  our  great  work  here,  is  to  bring  as 
many  individual  souls  as  possible  to  actual  repentance,  and 
to  raise  the  standard  of  holiness  among  those  thus  changed, 
to  the  highest  point.  This  is  laboring  directly,  to  promote 
the  kingdom  of  Christ, — the  extension  of  its  walls,  and  the 
purification  and  spiritual  prosperity  of  all  within.  This  is 
the  true  way,  by  which  the  remedy  for  sin,  is  ultimately  to 
reach  the  full  extent  of  the  disease.  The  plan  of  Jesus 
Christ  for  saving  the  world,  is  not  mainly,  that  the  indirect 
influence  of  Christianity  upon  the  public  conscience,  shall 
gradually  meliorate  the  moral  condition  of  unsanctified  men 
in  a  mass,  but  that  these  men  shall,  one  by  one,  be  brought 
to  conviction  and  thorough  repentance,  and  made  in  suc- 
cession, his  followers  and  friends;  not  restrained  a  little, 
as  a  communily,  from  their  worst  vices,  by  the  indirect  in- 
fluence of  the  gospel,  but  changed  thoroughly,  as  indi- 
mduals,  into  new  creatures  in  him.      It  is,  therefore,   to 


176  THE   WAY   TO   DO    GOOD.  [Ch.  6. 


Relation  to  the  community. 


promote  the  spread  of  this  individual,  personal  piety,  that 
constitutes  the  great  object  at  which  we  should  aim.  The 
other  is  secondary.  It  is  occasional.  Still,  it  has  its  claims. 
We  are  citizens  of  a  community,  as  well  as  members  of  a 
church,  and  each  relation  gives  rise  to  its  appropriate 
duties.  Cases  often  have  occurred,  in  the  history  of 
Christendom,  and  are  now  continually  occurring,  in  which 
religious  men  may  go  forth  with  advantage,  into  the  great 
community,  aud  accomplish  vast  good,  by  the  power  of  a 
moral  influence,  more  eflScient  in  its  appropriate  sphere 
than  legislative  enactments,  or  military  force.  Generally, 
however,  the  province  of  Christian  labor,  lies  in  a  different 
region;  and  the  influence  which  piety  is  to  exert  upon  the 
great  unsanctified  mass  of  mind  which  envelopes  it,  is  in- 
direct, spontaneous,  collateral ;  an  influence  which  follows 
of  its  own  accord,  while  the  Christian  is  intent  upon  his 
own  proper  work  of  extending  pure  and  thorough  personal 
piety. 

2.  When  we  go  out  to  act  thus  upon  society,  we  must 
remember  that  we  act  as  members  of  a  community  which  is 
under  one  common  responsibility  with  us  to  God,  and  that 
those  whom  we  are  endeavoring  to  influence,  are  not  re- 
sponsible to  us.  The  evils  which  we  attempt  to  prevent  or 
mitigate,  are  sins  against  God,  and  they  who  commit  them, 
are  accountable  to  him  for  their  guilt, — not  to  their  fellow 
men.  This  should  influence  the  tone  and  spirit  with  which 
we  should  approach  them.  We  are  like  children  whose 
father  is  away,  and  if  some  do  wrong,  the  others  are  not 
clothed  with  any  authority  to  arrest  or  punish  it.  The 
only  remedy,  is  the  gentle  moral  influence,  which  one  child 
may  properly  exert  upon  another. 

A  father  sometimes,  in  such  a  case,  returns,  and  finds 
an  older  child,  dictating  with  earnest  gesticulations  and 
imperious  tone,  its  duty  to  another.  He  stands  before  the 
little  delinquent,  putting  down  his  foot  with  an  air  of  au- 
thoritative command,   and  insisting  upon  some  supposed 


I      Ch.  6.]  PUBLIC    MORALS.  177 

i  A  common  scene  at  home.  Persueision. 

I  duty,  with  the  language  and  tone  and  manner,  which,  per- 
I  haps,  he  has  caught  from  some  extreme  exercise  of  author- 
I    ity,  on  the  part  of  his  father. 

I  The  parent,  coming  in  suddenly  in  the  midst  of  this 
I  scene,  remonstrates.  "Why,"  says  the  child,  "I  am 
I  only  trying  to  make  him  do  what  you  tell  him.  Is  not 
if  that,"  describing  what  he  was  endeavoring  to  enforce, 
I    ''what  you  tell. him  ?" 

I         "  Yes,"  replies  the  parent,  "  that  is  what  he  ought  to  do^ 

i     but  yotr  have  no  authority  to  make  him  do  it.     Your  power 

i     over  your  little  brother  is  persuasion, — not  authority." 

I         Now  there  are  many  such  scenes  as  these,  acted  among 

I     older  children,  than  those  which  play  around  the  fireside. 

For  human  laws,  restraining  outward  injury  by  man  against 

man,  there  is,  indeed,  human  authority.     But  for  the  divine 

law,  as  God  is  the  sole  avenger  of  it,  so  he   alone  may 

speak  with  the  tone  of  authority  and  command.     We  are 

all,  in  respect  to  those  moral  duties  and  relations,  which 

human  laws  do  not  cover,  only  children  of  one  common 

Father,  and  the  tone  which  we  should  assume  towards  our 

fellow  men,  is  that  tone  of  gentle,  unassuming,   though 

clear,  and  fearless,  and  decided  moral  influence  which  one 

child  may  properly  assume  towards  another., 

3.  It  follows  as  a  necessary  inference  from  the  last  head, 
or  rather,  as  an  expansion  of  it,  that  our  work,  when  we 
attempt  to  act  upon  the  community,  is  the  work  of  per- 
suasion. If  we  assume  the  air  and  tone  of  censorious  au- 
thority, we  fail  entirely  of  our  object,  with  those  whom  we 
endeavor  to  influence.  Usurped  authority  always  invites 
resistance.  The  little  child  will  resist  the  unauthorized 
dominion  of  his  older  brother:  and  how  seldom,  in  the  his- 
tory of  nations,  has  an  usurper  maintained  a  permanent 
seat  upon  the  throne.  The  dynasties  of  Cromwell  and  of 
Napoleon,  expired  with  their  founders,  as  the  dynasties  of 
usurpers  almost  always  will.  Even  where  men  have  no 
special  objection  to  the  thing  which  is  to  he  done,  they 


178  THE    WAY    TO    DO    GOOD.  [Ch.  6 

Christians  in  the  minority.  *         No  hope  from  open  war. 

will  be  led  to  resist  it,  even  by  the  mere  air  and  tone  of 
compulsion,  coming  from  a  quarter,  where  they  feel  that 
there  is  no  proper  authority.  Thus  the  human  heart,  may, 
in  a  thousand  cases,  be  easily  led,  when  it  cannot  be  driven 
by  those  who  have  no  right  to  drive.  It  results  from  that 
instinctive  principle  of  human  nature,  which  leads  man  to 
arouse  himself  to  the  resistance  of  all  unauthorized  power. 

Now  although  good  men  seldom  endeavor  actually  to 
force  a  moral  reform  upon  the  community,  by  physical  com- 
pulsion, they  do  not  unfrequently  assume  such  a  tone  and 
air  of  authority,  as  produces,  in  a  great  degree,  the  same 
ill  effects.  We  ought  to  guard  against  this;  and  we  may 
easily  guard  against  it,  by  taking  a  correct  view  of  our 
place  and  province,  as  individual  members  of  God's  great 
family.  We,  as  well  as  others,  and  others  as  well  as  we, 
are  independently  responsible  for  our  moral  conduct,  to  our 
common  Father.  So  that  moral  suasion,  and  influences 
analogous  to  it,  are  our  only  sources  of  power. 

4.  We  must  remember  that  the  true  servants  of  God  in 
this  world,  are  in  a  very  small  minority,  and  consequently 
that  they  can  do  nothing  by  force.  So  that  the  view  given 
under  the  last  head,  is  not  only  correct  in  theory,  but  it  is 
the  only  one  which  can  be  successful  in  practice.  We  are 
in  a  very  small  minority, — so  that  unless  the  case  is  a  very 
extraordinary  one  indeed,  giving  us  an  immense  aid  from 
the  power  of  the  public  conscience,  we  cannot  conquer  in 
open  war.  We  cannot  know  the  numerical  ratio  which  the 
friends  of  God,  in  this  world,  bear  to  his  enemies;  but 
every  one  who  has  any  proper  idea  of  what  a  life  of  peni- 
tence and  faith  is, — a  habitual  preference  of  duties  towards 
God,  and  the  interests  of  eternity,  over  the  pursuits  and 
pleasures  of  time  and  sense, — will  admit  that  this  ratio  is 
yet  very  small.  We  should  have  to  make  a  very  large 
deduction,  from  even  the  number  of  communicants  in  the 
churches,  for  hypocrites,  and  worldly  minded  Christians, 
who,  in  any  open  contest,  will  always  throw  their  influence 


Ch.  6.]  PUBLIC    MORALS.  179 

I        Weakened  by  intestine  divisions.  Denominational  jealousies. 

with  the  world.  Thus  in  the  contest  between  right  and 
wrong,  as  it  is  going  on  at  the  present  time,  even  in  the 
most  favored  nation  in  Christendom,  the  armies  are  very 
unequally  matched  in  respect  to  numbers,  and  we  therefore 
can  expect  little  success  in  open  war. 

5.  Our  own  internal  divisions  and  jealousies  make  us 
wealier7than  the  mere  inspection  of  our  numbers  would 
indica.te.  How  often  is  it  that  one  denomination,  or  one 
tHeological  party,  shows  itself  far  more  afraid  of  the  pro- 
gress of  the  opposing  one,  than  of  the  progress  of  sin.  Thus 
many  a  measure,  originating  in  one  quarter  of  the  christian 
connTruTiity7"fnrds^  hostility,  or  a  feeling  of  jealousy  equally 
fafaT,  in  another;  and  the  Congregationalist  joins  with  the 
Infidel  to  thwart  Episcopal  plans,  or  Baptist  and  Deist 
combine  to  prevent  Congregational  ascendency.  It  is  not 
always  so.  There  is  often  a  praise-worthy  cooperation; 
but  while  the  different  branches  of  the  church,  place  as 
much  stress  as  they  do  now,  upon  their  distinctive  forms 
of  organization  and  discipline,  questions  of  public  morals 
will  often  become  involved  with  questions  of  ecclesiastical 
strife.  This  danger  we  should  consider.  It  certainly  is  a 
very  important  element  to  be  taken  into  the  account,  in 
estimating  the  moral  force  which  the  Christian  community 
can  command  in  its  contests  with  a  wicked  world,  on 
questions  of  public  morals. 

5.  It  follows  from  the  preceding  considerations,  that  we 

ought  to  be  cautious  how  we  get  the   community  divided 

into  parties,  the  church  and  the  world  arrayed,  one  against 

I   anortTiBr,  in  open  war.     We  are  not  strong  enough  for  such 

a  contest,  and  if  we  were,  victory  would  be  hardly  worth 

the  gaining. 

ti       First,  I  say,  we  are  not  strong  enough.     This  is  evident 

I   from  the   preceding  heads;   and  the  moral  history  of  all 

i   christian    communities  confirms    it.      Whenever,  on  any 

I   moral  question,  the  lines  have  been  drawn,  and  sides  taken, 

I"    and  a  contest  commenced,  the  success  has  been  almost 


■1,. 


^ 


180  THE    WAY   TO    DO    GOOD.  [Ch.   6. 

Drawing  lines,  and  setting  the  battle  in  array. 

invariably  on  the  wrong  side.  This  has  always  been  the 
case,  whether  the  arena  of  the  conflict  has  been  in  the 
competition  of  business,  or  in  the  enforcement  of  laws, 
unsupported  by  public  opinion,  or  in  balloting  at  the  polls. 
The  majority  on  the  side  of  worldliness  and  sin,  is  altogeth- 
er too  great,  yet,  to  be  overcome  in  any  such  way.  We 
can  neither  conquer  the  wicked  in  an  open  contest,  or  run 
them  down  in  competition,  or  out  vote  them  at  elections,  or 
outnumber  them  in  mustering  our  followers,  or  baffle  them 
in  manoeuvering.  We  may  exert  an  immense  influence 
over  them  and  over  the  whole  community,  by  the  power  of 
moral  suasion,  and  by  the  gentle,  unassuming  influence  of 
personal  piety;  but  when  it  comes  to  drawing  lines  and 
forming  parties  in  array,  setting  one  side  against  the  other, 
there  is  scarcely  any  question  in  public  morals  which  can 
Stand  the  struggle. 

And  yet  we  often  take  such  a  stand,  and  assume  such  a 
tone,  that  the  mass  of  the  community  feel  themselves  chal- 
lenged to  a  war.  They  begin  to  array  themselves  then 
against  us.  Watchwords  and  symbols  are  gradually 
adopted  on  both  sides.  On  the  one  part,  religious  zeal, 
and  on  the  other,  enmity  to  God,  is  fanned  and  inflamed  by 
mutual  opposition.  The  lines  of  demarcation  become  con- 
tinually more  distinct,  and  defeat  to  the  right,  is  the  almost 
invariable  result  of  the  battle.  There  may  be  some  few 
and  rare  exceptions,  but  while  the  minority  on  the  side  of 
duty  is  as  small  as  it  is  now,  and  while  that  small  minority 
is  so  divided  and  weakened  by  intestine  dissensions,  the 
exceptions  must  be  exceedingly  few  and  rare. 

Then,  again,  the  victory,  if  obtained,  would  be  scarcely 
worth  the  gaining.  To  put  down  sin  by  superior  force,  is 
but  putting  a  constraint  upon  human  desires,  whereas,  the 
thing  to  be  done,  is  to  change  the  nature  of  those  desires. 
We  do  not  mean  to  say  that  the  former  is  never  desirable, 
but  that  it  is  only  by  the  latter,  that  the  real  kingdom  of 
Jesus  Christ  is  to  be  extended  in  the  world.     What  we 


Ch.  6.]    •  PUBLIC    MORALS.  181 

A  wrong  spirit.  Its  effects.  The  true  tactics. 

wish  is,  to  bring  men  to  abandon  sin  themselves,  as  individ- 
uals, on  their  ovi^n  individual,  personal,  single,  free  will. 
And  it  is  only  so  far  as  this  is  done,  that  any  real  progress 
is  made,  in  bringing  back  this  lost  world  to  its  Maker.  Let 
us  proceed,  then,  in  all  our  efforts,  with  a  proper  under- 
standing of  the  true  nature  of  the  work  we  have  to  do,  and 
of  the  moral  means  we  possess  of  effecting  it;  and  avoid 
a  course,  when  we  can  avoid  it,  which  will  awaken  and 
concentrate  hostility  to  our  cause,  and  unite  the  enemies 
bf  piety  and  bring  them  to  bay. 

6.  Our  plans  for  promoting  the  moral  improvement  of  the 
community,  are  often  impeded  by  this  cause,  viz.  that  we 
gradually  connect  with  our  efforts,  something  wrong  in  the 
spirit  which  we  exhibit,  or  in  the  measures  we  adopt,  and 
the  result  is,  that  the  attention  of  the  community  is  turned 
away  from  the  great  moral  evil  itself,  which  we  wish  to 
correct,  and  fixed  upon  the  comparatively  little  evils  which 
creep  into  our  mode  of  correcting  it.  Just  as  in  an  argu- 
ment, if  one  overstates  a  fact  a  very  little,  or  presses  a 
point  a  very  little  farther  than  it  will  bear, — his*  antagonists 
will  immediately  seize  upon  that  excess,  and  try  to  transfer 
the  contest  to  that  part  of  the  field,  where  he  has  the  ad- 
vantage,— drawing  it  away  from  the  general  merits  of  the 
question,  where  perhaps  his  cause  could  not  be  sustained. 
So  when  we  call  the  attention  of  the  community  to  their 
sins,  eager  as  they  will  be  to  escape  the  subject,  they  will 
scrutinize  our  conduct  and  measures,  and  transfer  the  con- 
test, if  any  ingenuity  can  do  it,  to  a  dispute  about  some- 
thing which  we  do  that  is  indiscreet,  or  imprudent,  or  un- 
guarded. Now  a  wise  logician,  in  managing  his  argument, 
aware  of  the  danger  I  have  above  described,  will  state  his 
facts  a  little  less  strongly  than  he  is  prepared  to  prove 
them,  and  in  pressing  his  points,  will  stop  a  little  short  of 
the  line  to  which  they  might  legitimately  be  carried,  so  as 
to  have  every  thing  completely  protected  and  secure,  and 
to  expose  no  weak  points  to  invite  attack,  and  produce  a 
16 


182  THE    WAY   TO    DO    GOOD.  [Ch.  6. 

Wrong  feelings.  Censoriousness.  Party  spirit. 

diversion.  These  tactics,  so  unquestionably  sound  in  the 
intellectual  conflict,  are  equally  so  in  the  moral  one.  We 
must  consider  beforehand  what  will  be  the  charges  proba- 
bly made,  and  must  guard  especially  against  affording  the 
least  ground  for  making  them. 

7.  We  are  often  actuated  by  feelings  so  inconsistent 
with  the  principles  of  the  gospel,  in  attempting  to  act  upon 
the  moral  condition  of  the  community,  that  we  cannot  hope 
for  success.  And  yet  these  feelings,  unhallowed  as  they 
are,  conceal  themselves  from  our  view,  or  disguise  them- 
selves in  the  garb  of  holy  emotions,  and  thus  elude  us. 
Perhaps  those  which  most  easily  gain  the  ascendency  in 
our  hearts,  when  we  think  we  are  only  honestly  interested 
in  the  cause  of  God,  are  censoriousness,  and  party  spirit. 
The  one,  the  corruption  and  perversion  of  the  proper  feel- 
ings towards  the  sin  which  we  oppose,  and  the  other,  a 
similar  corruption  and  perversion  of  the  proper  feelings 
towards  the  kingdom  of  Christ,  which  we  profess  to  pro- 
mote. In  other  words,  instead  of  a  proper  hostility  to  sin, 
which  is  alw«,ys  coupled  with  feelings  of  kindness  and 
compassion  towards  sinners,  our  hearts  become  the  prey 
of  feelings  of  censoriousness  towards  the  sins,  and  irritation 
against  the  sinners,  And  so,  instead  of  that  calm,  quiet 
union  of  heart  with  all  who  love  the  Savior,  and  exemplify 
his  principles,  united  with  a  simple,  honest  desire  that 
these  principles  should  spread,  we  insensibly  yield  our- 
selves to  the  dominion  of  party  spirit.  We  wish  that  oui: 
side  should  conquer  in  the  conflict;  we  enjoy  the  mortifi- 
cation of  our  enemies,  when  they  receive  a  blow;  we 
struggle  for  the  pleasure  of  victory,- — having  so  identified 
ourselves  with  our  party,  that  we  consider  its  victories  as, 
in  some  sense,  triumphs  of  our  own. 

^i;^?ii9H^^^-^^~^^^X-?^[>irit: — they  are  the  bane  and 
the;  _destrujptipn  of  the  jCiijiatiaa^„cause.~~Ari3  yet  censo- 
riousness is  not  precisely  the  word  to  convey  our  meaning; 
for  that  usually  imports  the  habit  of  speaking  with  unchari- 


Ch.  6.]  PUBLIC    MORALS.  183 

Anger  and  irritation.  True  sorrow  for  sin. 

table  severity,  of  the  faults  of  others,  whereas  the  sin  which 
we  wish  to  characterize,  has  its  origin  in  the  heart,  and 
censoriousness  is  one  of  its  fruits.  It  is  the  feeling  with 
which  the  unrenewed  heart  of  man  regards  those  sins  and 
failings  of  others,  in  which  it  fancies  that  it  does  not  itself 
participate.  It  looks  upon  these  faults  and  failings  with  a 
sort  of  malignant  exultation,  and  upon  the  victim  of  them 
with  a  feeling  of  irritation  or  hostility;  and  when  he  suffers 
the  bitter  fruits  of  them,  it  enjoys  a  secret  satisfaction 
which  is  of  the  nature  of  revenge.  True  piety,  on  the 
other  hand,  mourns  over  sin,  and  mourns  equally,  with  the 
tenderest  compassion,  over  the  sad  prospects  of  the  sinner. 
Censoriousness,  which  is  the  outward  expression  of  the 
one,  loves  to  talk  of  the  faults  she  condemns  when  the 
censured  ones  are  away,  and  no. end  can  be  accomplished 
by  it  but  the  indulgence  of  her  own  malignant  gratifica- 
tion. A  bitter  smile,  or  an  affected  look  of  concern  is 
upon  her  countenance,  and  "I  despise,"  or  "I  cannot 
bear,"  is  the  language  with  which  she  expresses  the  vex- 
ation and  the  impatience  of  her  heart.  But  when  she 
comes  into  the  presence  of  the  object  of  her  displeasure, 
she  is  either  all  heartless  sm.iles,  or  she  assumes  an  air  of 
dignified  and  cold  reserve;  the  two  most  common  robes  of 
disguise, — oh,  how  frail  and  thin, — with  which  the  hatred 
of  the  human  heart  is  covered. 

Piety,  on  the  other  hand,  sorrows  for  sin; — she  is  not 
vexed  and  angry  with  it.  She  speaks  of  the  guilt  or  the 
errors  of  the  absent,  very  seldom, — and  then  with  no  irri- 
tation or  secret  satisfaction.  And  when  she  is  in  the  pre- 
sence of  one  whose  sins  or  follies  she  mourns,  the  real 
spontaneous  feelings  of  her  heart  give  an  expression  of 
honest  kindness  and  interest  to  her  countenance,  and  a 
friendly  tone  to  her  voice.  The  sin  which  she  lartients, 
she  does  not  look  upon  as  an  offence  against  her,  that 
arouses  hostility  and  hatred,  but  as  a  source  of  evil  and 
danger  which  awakens  compassion  and  benevolent  regard. 


184  THE    WAY   TO    DO   GOOD.  [Ch.  6. 

Example  of  Jesus  Christ.  Self  deception. 

Jesus  Christ  expressed  it  exactly,  when  he  saw  before  him 
the  cro\Vded  citj  of  Jerusalem,  standing  out  upon  its  hills 
in  beauty  and  grandeur, — and  then  looking  forward  a  few 
short  years,  beheld,  with  his  prophetic  eye,  the  flames 
bursting  forth  from  its  thousand  dwellings,  and  roaring 
around  the  walls  of  the  temple  of  God.  He  expressed 
exactly  the  feeling  I  have  been  attempting  to  describe,  when 
he  said,  with  the  most  heartfelt  sorrow,  "Oh,  Jerusalem, 
Jerusalem,  how  gladly  would  I  have  protected  thee,  but 
thou  wouldst  not."-  It  was  the  city  which  had  killed  the 
prophets,  and  stoned  the  messengers  from  heaven;  and  the 
time  was  drawing  nigh,  when  he  himself  was  to  be  led 
forth  from  the  gates,  condemned  to  death.  But  there  was 
no  malignant  satisfaction  in  the  Savior's  heart,  as  he  look- 
ed forward  to  its  approaching  overthrow.  .  The  just  retri- 
bution for  her  awful  crimes,  he  mourned  over,  as  a  des- 
truction which  he  would  gladly  have  stayed. 

Now  the  danger  is,  that  the  Christian,  in  his  efforts  to 
promote  the  moral  welfare  of  the  community,  will  some- 
times, while  he  retains  the  tone,  and  the  language,  and  the 
appearance  belonging  to  the  latter  of  these  feelings,  gradu- 
ally allow  his  heart  to  come  under  the  unhallowed  dominion 
of  the  former.  Baffled,  perhaps,  in  some  .of  our  well- 
intended  plans,  by  the  ingenuity,  or  the  superior  power  of 
wicked  men,  we  find  it  hard  to  avoid  the  feelings  of  vexa- 
tion and  anger,  which  opposition  generally  awakens  in  the 
human  soul;  and  the  enterprise  which  began  as  an  honest 
effort  to  do  good  to  fellow  sinners,  gradually  becomes  an 
imbittered  contest  for  victory  over  foes.  We  do  not 
perceive  the  change.  We  are  blind  to  the  new  feelings 
which  have  obtained  the  mastery  in  our  hearts.  We  do 
not  much  alter,  perhaps,  the  language  or  appearances 
by  which  the  spirit  that  actuates  us  is  exhibited;  but  the 
change,  though  superficially  not  very  striking,  is  radical, 
and  ruinous  in  regard  to  all  hope  of  success.  We  lose  by 
it,  the  only  two  means  by  which  we  can  accomplish  any 


Oh.   6.]  PUBLIC    MORALS.  185 

The  public  conscience.        '  A  cruel  master. 

thing  here, — ^the  moral  power  of  honest,  simple-hearted 
piety, — and  the  blessing  of  God.  For  a  thousand  instances 
have  shown,  that  he  will  abandon  even  his  own  cause,  the 
moment  that  efforts  to  promote  it,  degenerate  into  a  contest 
for  victory  between  man  and  man. 

8.  Consider  what  is  the  real  avenue  by  which  Christian 
principle  is  to  gain  an  access  to  the  great  community,  and 
an  influence  over  its  moral  condition.  It  is  the  pINblic 
conscience.  There  is  a  public  conscience,  as  well  as  a 
public  opinion;*  and  this  moral  sense  of  the  community  is 
at  once  the  great  protector  of  public  virtue,  and  the  great 
ally  and  supporter  of  those  who  labor  to  promote  it.  It  is 
the  public  conscience  which  we  must  arouse  from  her 
slumbers, — it  is  she  who  can  alone  open  to  us,  the  brazen 
doors  of  the  great  castle  of  public  sin.  She  is  our  confed- 
erate, our  only  efficient  aid.  She  only  can  speak  so  as  to 
command  attention, — she  only,  where  Christian  principle 
is  wanting,  can  restrain,  at  all,  the  mighty  struggles  of 
human  passion,  or  the  deliberate  excesses  of  habitual  sin. 

The  sympathy  of  man  with  man,  is  shown  in  nothing 
more  strongly,  than  in  the  moral  sentiments.  A  cruel 
master,  we  will  suppose,  punishes  his  apprentice  with 
undue  severity,  and  a  simple  statement  of  the  case  is 
published  in  a  newspaper,  accompanied  by  an  expression 
of  just,  but  calm  indignation  at  the  wrong.  That  state- 
ment, and  that  expression,  though  enforced  perhaps  by  no 
argument,  and  exhibiting  no  new  moral  truths,  awakens 
the  moral  sensibilities  of  the  whole  community  around,  in 
respect  to  the  guilt  of  cruelty  to  a  helpless  boy,  and  though 
the  whole  story  may  perhaps  soon  be  forgotten,  the  in- 
fluence of  it  will  hold  back  the  hand  of  many  a  cruel 
master,  for  months  or  years. 

It  is  on  the  same  principle,  that  so  great  effects  have 
been  produced  in  the  United  States  within  a  few  years,  in 


*  Chalmer's  Bridgewater  Treatise. 
16* 


186  THE    WAY   TO    DO    GOOD.  [Ch.    6. 

Means  of  awakening  moral -sentiment. 

curtailing  the  use  of  Alcohol,  in  its  various  forms,  as  an 
article  of  common  consumption.  It  is  not  so  much  the 
power  of  the  argument,  it  is  not  the  result  of  the  economi- 
cal calculations,  it  is  not  the  influence  of  self  interest,  or 
of  politicEil  managenient,  or  of  popular  declamation,  that 
have  produced  the  effect  :-rit  is,  on  the  other  handj  the 
simple  exhibition  of  facts,  and  the  expression  of  certain 
moral  principles  in  their  application  to  them,  which  have 
awakened  the  conscience  and  quickened  moral  sensibility, 
and  spread  by  sympathy,  from  heart  to  heart.  This  has 
been  the  great  source  of  the  power  whose  efforts  have 
been  so  extensive;  it  is  the  power  of  one  conscience, 
acting  strongly,  an4  expressing  its  action,  to  awaken  an- 
other, until  the  moral  sensibilities  of  a  whole  community, 
closely  united  as  they  are  by  this  mysterious  sympathy, 
vibrate  in  unison,  and  pronounce  one  mighty  sentence  of 
condemnation  against  the  sin  which  has  awakened  its 
voice. 

It  was  in  the  same  way ,  that  the  great  victory  over  the 
slave  trade,  that  worst  daughter  of  the  worst  of  mothers, 
slavery,  was  obtained  in  Great  Britain  a  quarter  of  a  cen- 
tury ago.  The  men  who  carried  on  that  movement,  would 
have  been  weakness  and  helplessness  itself  without  their 
mighty  ally.  They  knew  where  their  great  strength  lay ; 
and  they  directed  their  efforts  to  awakening  the  moral 
sense  of  the  c©mmunity,  to  the  end  that  it  might  pronounce 
a  sentence  of  condemnation  against  the  system;  not  as  a 
suffrage  against  an  inexpedient  political  institution,  but  as 
a  moral  condemnation  of  a  great  public  wrong. 

This  is  one  great  secret  of  all  moral  power.  The  de- 
cisions of  one  conscience,  freely  and  calmly  made, — and 
calmly  and  kindly,  though  decidedly  expressed,  will  quick- 
en the  decisions  of  another;  and  to  awaken,  and  cultivate, 
and  concentrate  this  moral  sense  of  the  community,  is  the 
great  work  by  which  we  are  to  preserve  its  general  moral 
health,  and  undermine  great  public  sins.    In  accomplishing 


Cll.    6.]  PUBLIC    MOUALJ^.  187 

Excessive  zeal.  The  true  field  of  Christian  labor. 

this,  every  caution  should  be  observed  to  avoid  al]  which 
can  interfere  with  this  work.  If  by  the  excesses  of  our 
zeal,  our  exaggerated  statements,  our  censorious  or  dic- 
tatorial tone,  our  violence,  our  lukewarmness,  our  illogical 
reasoning,  our  overbearing  measures,  or  petty  manage- 
ment, or  any  other  errors,  we  give  just  ground  for  censiire 
against  ourselves,  we  defeat  our  own  aim.  The  public 
mind,  glad  of  an  excuse  for  turning  away  from  its  own 
guilt,  makes  a  sally  against  our  errors;  and  the  conscience 
which  we  were  endeavoring  to  arouse,  falls  asleep  again, 
while  the  ingenuity  and  the  satire,  or  the  more  malignant 
hostility  of  the  wicked,  is  occupied  in  discharging  its  arrows 
at  us.  We  do  not  mean  to  imply  by  this,  that  such  hos- 
tility can  always  be  avoided,  but  only,  that  so  far  as  we 
excite  it  by  what  is  really  wrong  in  our  spirit  or  measures, 
we  close  the  door  in  the  most  effectual  manner,  against 
the  only  influences  by  which  our  cause  can  be  saved. 

9.  After  all,  however,  it  is  comparatively  little  which 
the  Christian  community  can  do  beyond  its  own  bounds; 
and  our  great  work,  therefore,  is  to  expand  those  bounds 
as  rapidly  as  possible,  and  to  purify  and  perfect  all  that  is 
within  them,  ^Tnuhejiietyj^^^onsisUng  as  it  does,  in  honest 
obedience  to  God,  and  heartfelt  benevolence  towards  man, 
vnir"BF~Tfs"W8Ti?;'ifl  securing  hu  as  fast  and 

JaFas  ircari  go  itself  It  is  but  a  penumbra, — a  twilight,  .y 
of  virtue  and  happiness,  which  can,  by  the  best  of  efforts, 
BUHaJned  beyond.  We  toil  to  alter  human  institutions, — 
forms  of  government, — modes  of  religious  organization, — 
or  systems  of  social  economy,  where  we  find  them  bearing 
heavily  upon  the  welfare  or  the  happiness  of  men.  W« 
forget  that  it  is  human  depravity  which  gives  to  human 
institutions  all  their  efficiency  in  evil,  and  while  the 
depravity  remains,  it  matters  little  in  what  forms  it  tyran- 
nizes over  the  rights  and  happiness  of  men.     A  despotic 


188  THE    WAY   TO   DO    GOOD.  [Ch.   6. 

Political  evils  ijnd  their  remedy.  Forms  of  government. 

monarch  can  do  no  more  mischief  than  a  tyrannical  de- 
mocracy; in  fact,  on  the  catalogue  of  human  despots, 
arranged  in  the  order  of  injustice  and  cruelty^  a  Republi- 
can Committee  of  Safety  would  come  first,  and  Nero  would 
have  to  follow.  Where  there  is  cold-blooded  depravity  in 
power  at  -the  head,  and  corruption  in  the  mass  below,  no 
matter  for  the  forms.  So  in  the  church, — the  worldly 
spirit  which  in  England  would  make  a  bishop  an  ambitious 
politician,  or  a  country  pastor  an  idle  profligate, — would 
in  America,  under  a  more  democratic  organization,  show 
itself  in  factious  struggles  between  contending  parties,  or 
in  the  wild  fanaticism  of  a  religious  demagogue.  All  this 
does  not  show  that  it  is  of  no  consequence  how  our  eccle- 
siastical or  political  forms  are  arranged,  but  only  that  we 
are  in  danger  of  overrating  that  consequence,  and  that  our 
great  work  is  to  spread  the  influence  of  genuine  individual 
piety  every  where.  This  alone  can  go  to  the  root  of  the 
evil.  The  thing  to  be  done,  is,  not  to  go  on  changing 
institutions,  in  the  vain  hope  of  finding  some  form  which 
will  work  well,  while  depravity  administers  it, — but  to  root 
out  depravity,  and  then  almost  any  one  will  work  well. 
We  should  accordingly  learn  to  look  without  jealousy  and 
dislike  upon  the  political  institutions  of  other  countries, 
even  if  they  do  not  correspond  with  our  own  theoretical 
notions.  The  theories  of  the  reflecting  portion  of  the 
community,  have  but  little  to  do  with  moulding  their  insti- 
tutions; they  are  regulated  by  circumstances  over  which 
any  one  generation  has  but  little  control.  Why,  for  example, 
should  England  quarrel  with  America  for  being  a  republic  .=• 
If  she  had  wished  to  be  a  monarchy,  where,  I  ask,  could 
she  have  found  a  king }  It  requires  many  centuries  to  lay 
any  firm  foundations  for  a  throne.  And  why  should  Ameri- 
ca quarrel  with  England  because  she  is  a  monarchy.? 
Her  present  constitution  of  government  is  an  undesigned 


Ch.    6.]  PUBLIC    MORALS,  189 

Spread  of  individual  virtue.  France  and  New  England, 

result  of  the  growth  of  centuries,  that  no  combination  of 
human  powers,  which  it  is  possible  to  effect  in  a  single 
generation,  can  safely  change. 

It  is  then  the  spread  of  individual  virtue,  and- the  culti- 
vation of  the  moral  sense  of  the  community,  which  is  to 
mitigate  the  evils  that  now  oppress  mankind.  This  will 
alleviate  individual  sufferings,  and  soften  the  asperities  of 
intercourse  between  man  and  man,  and  render  more  mild 
and  gentle,  the  pressure  of  government  and  the  necessary 
restraints  of  law.  Public  virtue  must  be  the  great  means 
of  extending  free  institutions,  by  relaxing  every  where  the 
grasp  of  power;  for  political  power  must  be  based  on  pub- 
lic opinion.  As  we  have  shown  before,  a  certain  degree 
of  regard  for  life,  and  property,  and  of  public  order,  is 
necessary  to  the  very  existence  of  society, — and  the  de- 
gree of  power  on  the  part  of  the  sovereign,  necessary  to 
secure  this,  public  opinion  will  always  tolerate  and  support. 
Where  there  is,  in  any  community,  a  vast  amount  of 
degradation  and  vice,  there  will  be  tolerated  a  sufficient 
degree  of  military  power  and  of  governmental  restriction, 
to  keep  it  under  control.  Where,  on  the  other  hand,  the 
community  is  virtuous  and  peaceful,  government,  what- 
ever may  be  its  forms,  must,  insensibly, and  by  the  influence 
of  moral  causes  more  powerful  than  bayonets  or  cannon, 
gradually  relax  its  hold.  We  see  the  exemplification  of 
this,  every  where.  In  France,  for  example,  where  vital 
piety  scarcely  lingers, — what  a  machinery  of  power  has 
been  necessary  to  preserve  the  public  order.  What  pass- 
ports,— what  a  police, — what  a  gendarmerie!  How  com- 
pletely is  the  whole  community,  in  all  its  ramifications, 
under  the  espionage  and  the  grasp  of  governmental  power; 
by  a  system,  which  public  opinion  not  only  tolerates,  but 
sustains,  knowing  that  without  it,  public  tranquillity  could 
perhaps  not  be  preserved  a  day.  And  yet  in  New  Eng- 
land, a  man  may  spend  his  days,  and  scarely  perceive  any 


190  THE    WAY    TO    DO    GOOD.  [Ch.  6. 

The  true  support  of  despotism.  The  Christian  citizen. 

signs  of  a  government, — and  certainly  not  feel  its  pressure 
personally,  from  his  cradle  to  his  grave.  It  is  the  public 
conviction  of  its  necessity,  which  Sustains  the  system  in 
the  one  case,  and  it  is  its  manifest  uselessness,  which  dis- 
penses with  it  in  the  other.  It  is  thus,  that  public  vice  is 
always  the  origin  and  the  supporter  of  despotism.  It  is  the 
very  foundation  of  its  throne.  Banditti  upon  the  highways 
are  invaluable  auxiliaries  to  its  cause,  and  every  insurrec- 
tion in  the  provinces,  or  riot  in  the  city,  adds  to  the  number 
of  its  bayonets,  and  supplies  ammunition  for  its  cannon. 
And  when  despotism  is  thus  established,  revolution  is  no 
remedy.  It  may  shift  the  power  to  oppress,  from  one  hand 
to  another,  but  there  can  be  no  effectual  or  permanent 
mitigation  of  it,  but  virtue  and  self  control,  on  the  part  of 
the  governed. 

We  ought  also  to  remark,  before  concluding  the  discus- 
sion of  this  chapter,  that  it  relates  to  measures  adopted 
by  Christians,  as  such, —  i.  e.  as  members  of  the  kingdom 
of  Christ,  in  a  world  in  heart  opposed  to  him.  The  duties 
of  the  Christian  as  a  citizen,  we  do  not  now  wish  here  to 
discuss.  He  is  a  citizen  of  the  state,  as  well  as  others, 
mid  all  the  responsibilities  and  duties  of  citizenship  belong 
to  him  fully.  While  he  should  most  sedulously  guard 
against  an  assuming  or  a  dictatorial  spirit,  and  avoid  all 
manoeuvring  and  intrigue,  and  keep  his  heart  free  from 
party  spirit,  and  lust  of  office  and  power, — he  should  still 
be  vigilant,  and  faithful,  and  punctual,  in  discharging  all 
the  duties  which  the  constitution  of  his  country  imposes 
upon  him.  And  whatever  share  of  influence  he  may 
properly  exert  directly,  in  respect  to  the  political  ad- 
ministration of  his  government,  that  he  is  bound  to  ex- 
ert, in  favor  of  such  men  and  such  measures  as  will  pro- 
mote the  highest  and  most  permanent  public  good.  If  all 
are  faithful  in  the  discharge  of  these  obligations,  then  just 
so  far  as  personal  piety  extends,  so  far  will  the  social  and 
political  condition  of  man  be  improved,  and  this  is  the  only 


Ch.  6.j  PUBLIC    MORALS.  191 

Progress  of  Christianity. 

sure  and  safe  mode  of-  progress.  This  subject,  however, 
we  do  not  now  propose  to  go  into,  but  onl}^o  consider  the 
extent  in  which  the  Christian  community,  as  such,  may 
hope  to  exert  a  good  influence  upon  the  mass  of  mind 
around  it. 

The  work  of  the  Christian,  then,  in  this  world,  is  mainly 
witK^iiTn^ualsT^-Iiis  object  is  to  promote  the  spread  of 
p(grspnal7  individual  piety, — ^the  highest,  in  its  standard, 
and  the  most  extensive  in  its  range.  Then  let  this  piety 
thoroughly  inter-penetrate  the  whole  mass  of  society,  and 
mingle  every  where,  with  mind,  so  as  to  bring  the  insensi- 
ble, unobtrusive,  but  most  powerful  influence  of  its  pre- 
sence, to  act  upon  the  whole  mass  by  which  it  is  surround- 
ed. It  must  not  stand  aloof.  It  must  be  separate  from 
the  world  in  character,  not  in  condition,  it  must  sustain  the 
most  friendly,  business  and  social  relations  with  all  man- 
kind,— and  by  a  sort  of  interfusion  with  the  mass,  carry  its 
influence  every  where.  While,  however,  piety  goes  thus, 
like  the  Savior,  wherever  there  is  sin,  she  must,  like  him, 
keep  herself  unspotted  from  its  contamination, — firm  and 
unyielding  in  her  lofty  principles,  and  pure  in  her  own 
heavenly  spirit.  While  she  is  kind,  she  must  be  decided; 
-^coiiciliatory  and  unobtrusivej^_while_she„xs_.c(>nsisent 
^J^m.  7tTlo!E?tri5rher  .^owit  alluring  garbj  she  must 
exTiibit  the  moral  beauty  of  obedience  to  God  and  benevo- 
lence towards  man,  and  thus,  while  she  wins  multitudes  to 
sincere  repentance  and  eternal  life,  she  wiir  gently,  but 
powerfully,  restrain  the  guilt  and  assuage  the  sorrows  of 
the.y^st  multitudes  which  yet  continue  in  their  sins. 


192  THE    WAY   TO    DO    GOOD.  [Ch.   7. 

The  plan  of  the  Savior.  He  founded  a  church. 

•     CHAPTER  VII. 

THE     CHUftCH     AND     CHRISTIAN     UNION. 
*•  Diversities  of  administrations,  but  the  same  Lord." 

Notwithstanding  the  immense  importance  which  may 
justly  be  attached  to  private,  individual  effort,  in  the  work 
of  Doing  Good,  ^e  must  not  pass  slightly  over  another 
great  and  important  topic, — union  and  co-operation.  Jesus 
Christ  did  not  merely  make  arrangements  for  the  spread 
of  personal  piety  from  heart  to  heart, — he  founded  a  church. 
He  took  measures  for  concentrating  the  moral  power 
which  he  introduced,  and  for  linking  together  his  follow- 
ers, by  ties  which  formed  at  once  their  strength  and  their 
protection.  But  the  human  heart,  always  ready  to  find 
some  door  of  escape  where  it  may  go  astray,  and  espe- 
cially always  prone  to  slip  away  from  what  is  spiritual,  to 
what  is  external,  has  perverted  our  Savior's  originar  de- 
sign, until  at  length,  after  the  lapse  of  eighteen  centuries, 
the  arrangement  which  was  intended  by  him,  to  establish 
for  ever,  union  and  harmony,  has  resulted  in  the  very  ex- 
treme of  separation  and  division. 

It  is  not,  however,  the  number  of  distinct  ecclesiastical 
organizations  now  existing,  that  constitutes  the  main  evil, 
— it  is  the  spirit  of  dissension  and  jealousy,  not  to  say 
hostility,  which  separates  them  from  one  another.  For 
example,  a  comparatively  small  degree  of  inconvenience 
or  injury  would  result,  perhaps,  from  the  arrangement,  by 
which  the  church  of  Scotland,  stands  a  different  organiza- 
tion from  the  church  of  England, — each  having  its  own 
officers,  its  own  rules  and  its  own  usages,  and  thus  each 
being  independent  of  the  other, — provided  the  two  would 
occupy  their  respective  parts  of  the  vineyard,  as  distinct, 
but  friendly  divisions  of  the  same  great  family, — each 
enjoying  the  confidence  and  affection  of  the  other.     In  the 


II    Ch.  7.]  THE    CHURCH    AND    CHRISTIAN    UNION.  193 

Various  branches.  Dissensions  among  them. 

tl  same  manner,  there  might  be  little  inconvenience  or  injury 
j?  from  having  a  Methodist  and  a  Congregational  church  in 
the  same  city,  in  which  case  the  respective  fields  of  the 
two  organizations  would  be  marked  off,  not  by  territorial 
limits,  but  by  the  different  tastes,  or  habits,  or  pursuits  of 
different  classes  of  the  community.  We  do  not  say  that  it 
would  be  better  to  have  two  such  organizations  of  the 
Savior's  followers,  rather  than  one, — but  only  that  it  would 
not  be  much  worse,  were  it  not  for  a  spirit  of  dissension 
and  hostility  between  them.  If  the  portions  into  which  the 
church  is  divided,  were  friendly  families,  nearly  all  the 
evils  of  the  division  would  disappear,  and  there  would  be 
some  great  advantages  to  balance  those  which  should 
remain.  But  instead  of  being  friendly  families,  they  are, 
in  fact,  too  often  hostile  tribes,  expending  quite  as  much 
of  their  ammunition  upon  one  another,  as  upon  the  common 
enemy;  so  that  the  evil  consists,  not  so  much  in  the  lines 
of  demarcation,  by  which  the  great  body  of  believers  are 
separated,  as  in  the  brazen  walls  of  jealousy,  and  mistrust, 
and  excommunication,  which  are  erected  on  these  lines 
,  It  is  these  last  which  make  the  mischief. 

The  cause  of  our  difficulty  seems  to  be  the  tendency  of 
mankind  to  run  into  an  inordinate  attachment  to  forms. 
Forms  are  something  distinct  and  tangible,  and  associa- 
ttons  of  interest  and  attachment  cling  to  them  easily  and 
strongly.  Then  again,  the  religious  usages  to  which  we 
are  ourselves  accustomed,  are  the  ones  which  are  in  our 
minds  when  we  read  the  Scriptures,  and  we  associate  them 
with  the  directions  and  descriptions  given  there,  so  strong- 
ly, as  at  length  insensibly  to  imbibe  the  belief,  that  these 
very  usages  were  the  ones  referred  to  and  practised  in  those 
days;  each  reader  thus  making  his  own  accidental  expe- 
rience a  part  of  his  interpretation.  Thus  the  officer  or  the 
ordinance  which  we  read  of,  is  always  the  officer  or  the 
ordinance  which  we  are  accustomed  to;  just  as  every 
farmer's  child,  v/hen  reading  the  story  of  the  babe  in  the 
17 


194  THE    WAY    TO    DO    GOOD.  [Ch.  7. 

Religious  party  spirit.  Two  ways  to  make  peace. 

manger,  always  pictures  to  himself  a  scene  from  his  own 
father's  barn.  .Then,  besides,  there  is  party  spirit,  a  form  of 
human  depravity,  not  slow  to  show  itself  in  the  most  sacred 
relations  of  the  soul.  We  love  to  have  our  party  prosper, 
and  so  we  are  ardent  and  zealous  for  the  interests  of  our  own 
pale;  for  thus,  by  the  self  delusion  which  is  the  inveterate 
and  perpetual  characteristic  of  sin,  we  cp;a  have  the  satis- 
faction of  thinking  that  our  ardor  is  for  the  cause  of  God, 
while  in  fact,  we  are  only  glorifying  ourselves.  And  of 
all  the  inaccessible  and  impregnable  fortresses  of  sin,  this 
is  certainly  the  worst.  Human  selfishness  and  pride  are 
firm  and  immovable  enough,  when  open  and  undisguised; 
— and  real,  devoted  love  to  God,  too,  will  sometimes  stand 
its  ground  well; — but  when  pride,  and  selfishness,  and 
party  zeal  clothe  themselves  with  the  garb  of  pretended 
piety,  and  do  it  so  adroitly  as  to  deceive  their  very  victim, 
you  have  headstrong,  unmanageable  and  indomitable  ob- 
stinacy personified.  The  pride  and  selfishness  of  party 
spirit  which  constitute  the  real  spring,  are  far  within,  pro- 
tected by  the  superficial  covering,  from  all  attack  and  all 
exposure.  This  kind  of  character  is  found  in  every  deno- 
mination of  Christians,  and  it  is  the  spirit  which  this  dif 
fuses  and  creates,  that  gives  all  its  acrimony  to  the  division 
of  the  church;  which  division  might  otherwise  be  coijsid- 
ered  as  an  amicable  arrangement,  intended  to  accommodate 
Christianity  in  its  external  forms,  to  the  changing  events, 
and  tastes,  and  habits  of  different  ages  and  climes. 

There  are  two  modes  by  which  the  Christian  church 
may  attempt  to  promote  a  state  of  greater  harmony.  One 
is,  for  each  denomination  to  struggle  to  bring  all  the  others 
upon  its  own  ground, — which  plan  has  been,  for  some 
time,  in  the  course  of  trial,  and  the  result  of  the  experiment 
thus  far,  is,  that  the  opposing  forces,  of  the  contending  par- 
ties, neutralize  each  other,  and  the  only  result  which  re- 
mains, is  a  gradual  thickening  of  the  walls,  and  raising  of 
the    battlements,   and  strengthening    of  the  bulwarks  by 


Ch.  7.]  THE    CHURCH    AND     CHRISTIAN    UNION,  195 

Union  of  Christians  necessary. 

which  they  are  separated.     I  need  not  say  that  I  have  no 
intention,  in  this  chapter,  of  engaging  in  this  work. 

The  other  plan  is,  while  we  leave  each  of  the  great 
divisions  of  the  Christian  family  in  the  peaceful  occupancy 
of  its  own  ground,  to  endeavor  to  diminish,  and  ultimately 
to  destroy,  the  walls  of  jealousy  and  dislike  which  separate 
tlicrn.  The  way  to  do  this,  is  for  us  to  learri  to  attach  les^ 
it"PQjiABce  to  these  differences.  This  we  shall  easily  do, 
if  we  look  into  the  bible,  wit^  lih  honest  desire  to  under- 
stand the  real  place  which  forms  and  modes  of  organization 
occupy  there. 

It  was  one  of  the  most  admirable  provisions  made  to 
secure  the  spread  of  religion  in  such  a  world  as  this,  that 
it  was  not  left  as  a  mere  general  principle,  to  work  its  way 
itself  among  mankind.  Jesus  Christ  not  only  taught  the 
principles  of  piety, — but  he  took  measures  for  the.founding 
of  a  church.  He  provided  for  the  embodying  of  his  follow 
ers  in  united  bands,  and  he  showed  by  this  arrangement, 
his  knowledge  of  a  principle  which  the  philosophers  of 
those  days  were  not  shrewd  enough  to  discover.  And,  as 
a  distinguished  writer  has  observed,  if  he  had  contented 
himself  with  merely  teaching  Christianity,  without  founding 
a  church,  the  results  of  his  labors  could  not  have  been 
expected,  on  human  probabilities,  to  have  survived  his 
death  by  a  single  century.  Yes;  the  union,  the  regular 
organization  of  the  disciples  of  Christ,  is  an  essential  part 
of  the  plan  of  Christianity.  To  make  each  individual 
Christian  isolated  and  solitary  in  such  a  world  as  this, 
would  be  almost  as  ruinous  as  the  disbanding  of  an  army 
upon  the  field  of  battle.  It  is  not  therefore,  the  necessity 
of  an  organization,  itself,  but  the  precise  foriri  and  method 
in  which  the  organization  is  effected,  that  we  are  prone  to 
over-estimate.  While  the  latter,  the  mode  and  foifm  of  or- 
ganization has  been  continually  fluctuating  from  the  days 
of  Abraham  to  the  present  hour,  the  former,  the  necessity 
of  organized  union  itself,  has  remained,  during  all  these 


196  THE    WAY  TO  DO   GOOD.  [Ch.    7. 

Subordinate  place  of  forms.  Attachments  to  them. 

centuries  unchanged,  and  must  remain  fixed  and  immov- 
able as  long  as  human  nature  continues  as  it  is. 

He,  however,  ^viio  honestly  wishes  to  know  the  will  of 
God  in  respect  to  this  subject,  will  find,  in  looking  care- 
fully into  it,  a  great  many  very  striking  evidences,  that  the 
particular  modes  and  forms  by  which  the  organization  of 
good  men  in  this  world  is  effected,  assume,  in  the  divine 
counsels,  a  very  subordinate  and  secondary  place.  And 
let  me  remind  the  reader,  before  I  proceed  to  mention 
some  of  these  evidences,  that  we  are  all  exposed  to  a  very 
strong  bias,  while  looking  at  them.  We  have  ourselves 
been  educated  in  one  Christian  communion, — accustomed, 
for  many  years,  to  one  system,  and  the  usages  which  have 
thus  become  so  familiar  to  us,  have  ^entwined  themselves 
around  our  hearts,  and  linked  with  themselves  all  our  most 
sacred  associations.  All  this  is  well.  It  is  perfectly  right, 
that  we  should  cling  with  feelings  of  interest  and  attach 
ment  to  what  we  have  loved  and  venerated  so  long.  But 
then  it  is  hard  for  us  to  distinguish,  between  what  is  thus 
hallowed  to  us,  as  individuals,  from  the  circumstances  of 
our  past  history,  and  what  is  absolutely  enjoined,  by  the 
word  of  God,  and  which  we  are  accordingly  to  insist  upon 
from  others.  But  we  ought  to  distinguish  between  them. 
While  we  cling,  with  as  strong  an  attachment  as  we  please, 
to  the  institutions,  whose  happy  influence  we  have  enjoyed 
for  years, — until  our  religious  sentiments  and  feelings  are 
inextricably  interwoven  with  them, — we  should  still  be  wil- 
ling to  open  our  eyes  to  the  distinction  between  what  we 
have  thus  ourselves  justly  learned  to  love,  and  what  God 
has  absolutely  enjoined  upon  all.  While,  then,  I  bring 
forward  the  indications,  that  God  considers  the  particular 
mode  by  which  his  friends  are  organized,  as  of  secondary 
and  subordinate  importance,  give  them,  reader,  a  candid 
hearing;  and  remember,  that  they  are  not  intended  to  di- 
minish your  attachment  to  the  institutions  which  you  love^ 
but  only  to  increase  your  indulgence  for  those  who,  by 


1 1        Ch.   7.]  THE    CHURCH    ANT)    CHRISTIAN    IJNtON.  19? 


The  eight  propositions. 


precisely  the   same   causes,  are   led   to   love   institutions 
somewhat  different  from  yours. 

In  the  examination  of  this  subject,  then,  Wtfe  shall  en* 
deavor  to  throw  some  light  upon  the  degree  of  importance, 
which  God  attaches  to  the  particular  forms  of  government 
and  discipline,  under  which  his  people  are  united,  by  the 
establishment  of  the  following  propositions. 

1 .  Forms  of  ecclesiastical  organization,  while  they  were 
under  the  special  direction  of  God,  in  ancient  days,  were 
not  fixed  and  permanent,  but  were  changed  continually,  ac- 
cording to  the  exigencies  of  the  times.  These  changes 
continued  down  to  the  close  of  the  scripture  history. 

2.  The  forms,  which  were  in  use  at  the  close  of  the 
scripture  history,  were  only  usages  incidentally  introduced^ 
from  time  to  time,  and  not  adopted  as  a  system  deliberately 
arranged  and  established,  once  for  all. 

3.  The  description  of  these  us%es  is  very  indistinct  and 
incomplete. 

4.  The  apostles  were  not  strict  and  uniform  in  the  ob- 
servance of  them. 

5.  Their  present  authority  rests  on  the  mere  practice  of 
good  men,  in  early  times,  which  is  nowhere  in  the  Scrip- 
tures made  binding. 

6.  The' most  complete  system  which  can  be  drawn  from 
these  records  of  early  practice,  is  not  at  all  sufficient  for  the 
present  wants  of  the  church. 

7.  The  union  of  Christians,  under  any  one  consolidated 
ecclesiastical  government,  must  be  highly  dangerous,  if  not 
fatal  to  the  cause  of  true  piety, 

8.  God  sanctions,  by  the  influences  of  his  Holy  Spirit, 
the  existence  and  the  operations  of  all  those  denominations 
of  Christians,  whatever  may  be  their  forms,  whose  faith 
and  practice  correspond  with  his  Word. 

These  propositions  we  now  proceed  to  consider. 

I.  Forms  of  ecclesiastical  organization,  while  they  con- 

17* 


19^  THE   Way   T6.  D(J  GOO0^  [Ch.  t. 

Changes.  Times  of  Abraham,  Moses  and  David. 

tiliued  under  the  special  direction  of  God,  in  ancient  days, 
were  not  fixed  and  permanent,  but  were  continually  chang- 
ed, to  meet  the  emergencies  of  the  times. 

God  has  always  had  a  body  of  true  and  faithful  frienda 
in  the  world,  and  he-  might  have  adopted  a  plan  for  uniting 
them,  .from  the  beginning,  in  a  church  with  prescribed  and 
permanent  forms  of  government  and  worship.  In  fact,  if 
he  had  entertained"  the  views  on  this  subject,  which  the 
Christian  church  is  protte  to'  entertain,  at  the  present  day, 
he  would  have  done  so.  Abraham  and  Melchisedec  would 
have  been  joined  into  A  regular  church,  with  rules  for  gov- 
ernment and  worship,  which  should  have  been  exactly  pre- 
scribed, and  made  the  model  for  all  succeeding  generations. 
But  instead  of  such  a  plan,  God  has  made  the  precise  mode 
of  union  as  changeable,  as  the  varying  circumstances  of 
every  age.  In  Abraham's-  time,  the  faithful  constituted 
simply  a  family,  governed  by  patriarchal  rules,  and  offer- 
ing a  very  simple  worship.  In  the  time  of  Moses,  circum- 
stances  change,  and  the  whole  ecclesiastical  arrangements 
of  his  people  change  with  thecn.  We  have  the  church  and 
the  state  not  merely  united,  but  absolutely  identified, — 
governed  by  very  pecuFiar  rules  and  usages,  which  were 
evidently  not  only  temporary,  but  from  their  very  nature, 
limited  and  local.  In  the  days  of  Joshua,  the  church, 
which  was  before  a  moving  state,  takes  the  new  character 
of  an  invading  army;  and  military  rules,  military  customs, 
and  military  movements,  very  seriously  affect  and  modify  all 
the  arrangements  of  the  government  and  worship  of  the 
church-  of  God.  The  whole  Levitical  system,  planned  and 
minutely  described  by  Jehovah  himself,  was  local  and  tem- 
porary,— confined  necessarily  to  one  small  nation,  occupy- 
ing a  spot  scarcely  discernible  on  the  map  of  the  world, 
and  limited  by  the  very  termination,  which  God  himself 
intended  for  it,  to  a  few  hundred  years. 

If  the  reader  should  say  that  there  were  peculiar  reasons, 


Ch.   7.]  THE    CflURCE   AND    CHRISTIAN    UNION.  I9d 

Time  of  the  Savior.  His  ecclesiastical  polity. 

arising  out  of  the  circumstances  of  the  occasion,  why  a 
local  and  a  temporary  ecclesiastical  arrangement  should  be 
made  for  the  Jews,  he  would  be  doubtless  correct,  and 
would  come  to  what  is,  unquestionably,  the  true  principle, 
viz.  that  in  respect  to  ecclesiastical  forms,  it  always  has 
been  God's  design,  to  regard  the  circumstances  of  the  case, 
in  the  regulation  of  them.  With  the  view,  which  we  are 
prone  to  entertain,  we  should  have  placed  church  govern- 
ment and  the  forms  of  worship,  on.  a  fixed  and  permanent 
basis,  at  the  very  beginning, — -making  the  system  go  on 
unchanged  from  generation  to  •  generation,— pursuing  its 
steady  and  unalterable  way  over  monarchies  and  republics, 
in  civilized  and  savage  life,  still  the  same  in  every  age^ 
and  among  all  nations,  languages,  arid  realms.  But  God 
in  the  most  systematic,  and  formal,'  and  minutely  detailed 
ecclesiastical  arrangement  which  he  ever  made,  only  in- 
tended it  for  one  single  province, ^nd  for  a  few  centuries; 
and  in  effect,  he  swept  it  all  away  himself,  by  a  foreign 
invasion,  long  before  the  time  arrived  which  was  appointed 
•  for  its  close.  .  • 

We  will  not  stop  to  notice,  how  different  the  state  of  the 
church  of  God  must  have  been  in  the  time  of  the  captivity, 
— nor  the  changes  which  took  place  on  the  return,  when 
the  introduction  of  the  synagogue  modified  the  whole  plan 
of  public  worship.  We  pass  on  to  the  Savior's  day,  wben 
the  constitution  of  the  church  was  totally  different  from 
what  it  ever  was  before,  or  has  been  since.  It  may  be 
given  thus. 

1.  Twelve  apostles. 

2.  Seventy  itinerant  ministers,  travelling  two  and  two. 

3.  One  treasurer. 

4.  No  local  churches. 

5.  Meetings  in  the  open  air. 

6.  Ministry  supported  by  the  voluntary  contributions  and 
hospitality  of  its  friends. 

7.  Funds  of  the  ministry  in  common. 

8.  No  lay  organization  whatever. 


200  THE   WAY  TO.  DO   GOOD.  [Ch.  7. 

Ecclesiastical   polity   of  the   apostles. 


And  even  these  arrangements  seem  not  to  have  been 
made  as  the  result  of  any  settled  plan;  measures  were 
adopted  to  suit  emergencies,  and  the  above  was  the  result. 
If  Jesus  Christ  had  entertained  the  views  which  are  very 
common  now  in  every  denomination  of  Christians,  one  of 
the  first  things  which  would  have  attracted  his  attention, 
would  have  been  the  work  of  settling  the  constitution  of 
the  Christian  church  The  forms  of  government,  disci- 
pline, and  worship,  would  have  been  fixed  and  minutely 
described,  for  the  guidance  of  his  followers,  in  all  future 
time.  But  he  could  not  have  entertained  such  views;  for 
he  took  a  totally  different  course.  He  adopted,  for  the 
A^ime  being,  such  measures  as  suited  his  own  purposes,— 
which  were  as  peculiar  as  the  circumstances  in  which  he 
was  placed  ;  and  when  he  left  the  world,  and  the  circum- 
stances under  which  he  acted  were  changed,  the  whole 
ecclesiastical  polity,  which  was  founded  on  them,  was 
changed  too. 

For  after  the  lapse  of  a  very  few  years  from  the  death 
of  Christ,  the  reader  of  the  New  Testament  finds  himself 
surrounded  by  quite  a  different  system  of  religious  institu- 
tions.    We  have  then, 

1 .  A  ministry,  sometimes  itinerant  and  sometimes  sta- 
tionary. 

2.  Seven  deacons, 

3.  Local  churches. 

4.  Somewhat  regular  ordination. 

5.  Ecclesiastical  councils. 

6.  An  enumeration  of  four  or  five  different  officers,  not 
including  deacons,  viz.  apostles,  prophets,  evangelists, 
pastors  and  teachers.* 

7.  In  some  sense,  and  to  some  extent,  not  however  very 
distinctly  defined,  a  community  of  goods. 

*  Ephesians  4:  11.  "  And  he  (i.  e.  Christ)  gave  some  apostles;  and  some 
prophets;  and  some  evangelists;  and  some  pastors  and  teachers,  for  th«  per* 
fecting  of  the  saints,  &c. 


Ch.  7.]  THE    CHURCH    AND    CHRISTIAN    UNION.  201 

Apostolic  arrangements  provisional. 

We  will  not  follow  the  history  of  God's  people  any  far- 
ther, to  show  that  the  forms  of  their  organization  have  been 
continually  changing  since  then,  for  the  reader  might  insist 
that  all  subsequent  changes,  have  been  unauthorized  and 
wrong.  But,  after  looking  at  the  facts  which  we  have  just 
stated,  no  one  can  deny  that  so  long  as  God  himself,  exer- 
cised a  direct  control  over  the  external  arrangements  made 
by  his  people,  he  changed  them  continually,  according  to 
the  exigencies  of  the  times.  And  this  seems  to  show  that 
while  he  may  attach  great  importance  to  organized  combi- 
nation itself,  he  must  regard  the  particular  mode,  by  which 
it  is  to  be  effected,  as  of  secondary  and  subordinate  account. 

II.  The  forms  which  are  introduced  at  the  close  of  the 
scripture  history,  grew  out  of  usages  incidentally  introduc- 
ed, from  time  to  time.  They  were  not  adopted  as  a  system 
deliberately  arranged  and  established,  once  for  all. 

It  is  remarkable  how  entirely  provisional,  as  statesmen 
term  it,  were  all  the  ecclesiastical  arrangements,  made  by 
the  apostles.  That  is,  the  most  important  parts  of  their 
system,  were  introduced  in  succession, — on  emergencies, — 
to  answer  particular  and  often  temporary  purposes,  instead 
of  having  been  framed  as  a  whole,  with  a  general  view  to 
the  permanent  and  universal  wants  of  the  church.  The  dis- 
ciples did  not  come  together  after  the  ascension,  as  we,  in 
modern  times,  should  very  probably  have  done,  to  form  a  con- 
stitution for  the  church,  wisely  framed  and  adjusted,  to  cov- 
er the  whole  ground.  No.  They  went  to  their  work  at  once, 
giving  their  whole  souls  to  the  preaching  of  the  gospel; 
and,  as  from  time  to  time  emergencies  arose,  requiring  new 
arrangements,  they  met  the  cases  as  they  occurred.  For 
example,  they  did  not  make  a  general  rule,  that  all  impor- 
tant appointments  should  be  made  by  election,  and  provide, 
by  rule,  for  the  contingency  of  two  prominent  candidates, 
in  such  elections.     But  when  they  came  together,  to  fill 


202  THE    WAY    TO    DO    GOOD.  [Ch.  7. 


Ordinations.  The  general  council. 


Judas's  place,  they  concluded,  in  that  case,  to  elect,  and 
when  they  found,  that  there  were  two  principal  candidates, 
they  concluded,  in  that  case,  to  decide  by  lot.  Did  they 
intend  this  to  be  a  precedent,  to  govern  the  mode  of  Chris- 
tian elections  in  all  coming  time  ? 

After  awhile,  an  emergency  occurred,  requiring  aid  for 
the  apostles  in  a  certain  business,  altogether  peculiar  to 
that  age  and  country,  and  they  determined  to  appoint  seven 
deacons,  with  special  reference  to  that  emergency.  So 
the  rules  of  ordination  were  not  adopted  as  general  rules; 
but  when  the  churches  wished  to  send  Paul  and  Barnabas 
on  a  foreign  mission,  they  ordained  them  to  that  work;*  and 
when  Paul  left  Titus  in  Crete,  he  gave  him,  Titus,  direc- 
tions about  ordaining  elders  in  that  particular  island,  Crete. 
On  one  occasion  a  question  arose,  which  it  seemed  difficult 
to  settle,  and  a  'general  consultation  was  agreed  upon. 
This  formed  the  first  council.  It  was  called,  not  as  the 
first  regular  meeting  of  a  body  organized  as  a  model  for  all 
coming  times,  but  as  a  special  assembly,  resorted  to  for  a 
temporary  and  single  emergency.  It  will  be  found  by 
reading  the  book  of  the  Acts,  that  all  the  ecclesiastical  ar- 
rangements of  the  Apostles,  were  made  in  this  way;  they 
were  not  adopted  at  once,  as  a  whole;  they  were  not  the 
results  of  a  deliberate  plan  to  frame  a  system  for  them- 
selves and  posterity  ;  they  were  provisional,  temporary 
arrangements,  resorted  to  successively,  at  distant  intervals 
of  time,  to  aid  them  in  existing  emergencies,  and  to  remove 
difficulties  as  they  occurred.  This  does  not,  indeed,  prove 
that  we  have  nothing,  in  these  days,  to  do  with  the  example 
of  the  early  Christians,  but  it  does  prove,  most  certainly, 
that  they  entertained  views  very  different  from  those  which 
often  prevail  in  this  age  of  the  world,  in  respect  to  the 
nature  and  province  of  ecclesiastical  forms. 


*  We  shall  hereafter  see  that  they  had  both  been  regular  and  acknowledg- 
ed ministers  sometime  before  this  ordination. 


Ch.  7.]  THE    CHURCH    AND    CHRISTIAN    UNION.  203 

Description  of  usages.  Levitical  law.  Fourth  commandment. 

III.  The  description  of  these  usages  is  very  indistinct 
and  incomplete. 

The  knowledge  we  gain  of  them,  is  not  given  in  any 
formal  and  methodical  description,  but  in  incidental  allu- 
sions, scattered  through  the  Acts  and  the  Epistles.  This 
is  indicative  of  the  degree  of  importance  attached  to  them 
by  the  sacred  writers.  Contrast  it  with  the  methodical  and 
systematic  manner,  in  which  the  various  subjects  connected 
with  religious  truth,  are  exhibited  in  the  Epistle  to  the 
Romans,  or  that  in  which  practical  duty  in  all  the  relations 
of  life,  is  drawn  out  and  enforced  in  other  epistles;  and 
this,  loo,  when  it  must  be  admitted  by  common  consent, 
that  forms  of  government,  more  than  any  thing  else,  if  in- 
tended to  be  binding,  must  be  precise,  and  minute,  and 
exact  in  all  their  specifications.  God  has  himself  given  us 
one  example  of  this,  in  the  statutes  relating  to  ecclesia:stical 
government  and  niodes  of  worship  among  the  Jews.  There 
is  a  model.  The  Holy  Spirit,  in  dictating  the  books  of 
Leviticus  and  Deuteronomy,  recognized  the  necessity  of 
being  minute,  and  particular,  and  specific  in  the  extreme, 
in  a  record  of  forms,  which  were  intended  to  be  binding 
even  upon  one  nation,  and  for  a  limited  time.  '  But,  when 
at  length,  these  forms  came  to  be  abrogated,- and  a  spiritu- 
al religion  came  to  take  their  place,  we  have,  instead  of  the 
methodical  and  well  digested  system  clearly  described, — 
only  incidental  allusions  to  the  practice  of  individuals,  in 
the  peculiar  emergencies  in  which  they  were  placed. 

There  is  the  institution  of  the  Sabbath  too,  which,  in 
respect  to  the  distinctness  with  which  its  enactment  and 
observance  is  announced,  shows  us  how  specific  and  direct 
God's  commands  are,  when  they  enjoin  external  observ- 
ances, on  which  he  really  lays  a  stress.  Announced  in 
general  terms  as  universally  binding,  at  the  creation,  and 
then, — as  soon  as  the  state  of  society  made  written  records 
of  value, — placed  upon  stone,    in  language    definite    and 


204  THE    WAY   TO    DO    GOOD.  [Ch.  7. 

Not  strictly  observed.  Ordination. 

exact,  almost  to  legal  technicality,  it  stands  a  model  of 
legislative  precision.  Read  the  fourth  commandment,  and 
then  collect  together  and  read,  all  that  is  said  of  the  mode 
of  Christian  ordination,  or  the  orders  of  the  ministry,  and 
note  the  contrast. 

We  do  not  here  say  how  far  this  ought  to  influence  us, 
but,  certainly,  no  candid  man  can  deny  that  it  is  worthy  of 
consideration,  and  should  seriously  affect,  to  some  degree, 
at  least,  our  views  of  the  proper  place  of  forms  in  the 
Christian  system.  • 

IV.  The  apostles  were  not  strict  and  uniform  in  the  ob- 
servance of  these  usages. 

We  might  show  this  at  length,  if  time  and  space  would 
allow,  by  going  into  a  full  examination  of  the  ecclesiastical 
arrangements  of  the  early  church,  and  showing,  in  detail, 
how  changeable  and  fluctuating  they  were.  It  will,  how- 
ever, be  sufficient  to  take  a  specimen,  especially  if  we  take 
some  one  so  conspicuous  and  important  in  its  character, 
that  we  may  safely  reason  from  that  to  the  others. 

There  is,  for  example,  ordination:  for  we  might  expect 
that  if  punctilious  uniformity  were  to  be  insisted  on,  in  any 
ecclesiastical  forms,  it  would  be  in  the  mode  of  mduction  to 
the  sacred  office.  And  we  find  accordingly,  that  a  very 
prominent  and  important  place  is  assigned  to  this  rite,  in 
our  discussions  at  the  present  day.  We  select  it,  however, 
here,  not  with  any  reference  to  these  discussions,  but  only 
as  a  conspicuous  and  proper  specimen  of  the  whole  class 
of  ceremonial  observances  to  which  it  belongs. 

In  the  first  place,  we  may  safely  infer  a  great  deal,  in 
respect  to  the  importance  attached  to  the  mere  mode  of 
induction  to  the  sacred  office,  from  the  manner  in  which 
the  whole  subject  of  the  ordination  of  the  twelve  apostles 
is  dismissed,  with  the  words,  "And  he  ordained  twelve." 
Just  think  of  the  occasion, — think  of  the  men,  their  nura- 


Cb.  7.J  THE    CHURCH   AND    CHRISTIAN    UNION.  205 


Ordination  of  the  twelve :  of  Paul, 


ber,  the  position  they  occupied,  conspicuous  and  important 
beyond  all  others, — and  then  consider,  how  imposing  and 
solemn  would  have  been  the  ceremony,  and  how  detailed  a 
description  would  have  been  given  of  it,  if  the  views  and 
feelings  of  modern  times,  on  such  a  subject,  had  been  en- 
tertained by  our  Savior.  Instead  of  this,  it  is  simply  said, 
'*  And  he  ordained  twelve;"  language,  which,  according  to 
the  opinion  of  the  ablest  commentators,  means  only  that  he 
appointed  them,  set  them  apart,  without  at  all  implying  any 
ceremonial  observance  whatever,  in  inducting  them  into 
office. 

In  the  succeeding  portions  of  the  New  Testament,  the 
ordaining  of  the  apostles  and  preachers,  who  were  succes- 
sively added  to  the  original  number,  is  very  seldom  alluded 
to.  Contrast  this  with  the  prominence  given  to  the  time 
and  the  place,  and  all  the  circumstances  of  the  ordination 
of  a  Christian  minister,  in  modern  biography.  The  promi*- 
nence  given  to  this  solemnity  in  modern  times,  we  do  not 
complain  of  as  at  all  too  great,  A  distinct  and  special 
preparation,  a  formal  examination,  and  an  induction  into 
office,  by  appropriate  ceremonies,  are  altogether  more 
necessary,  to  guard  against  improper  admissions  to  it  now, 
in  a  community  where  all  are  professedly  Christian,  than 
they  were  in  apostolic  days,  when  a  simple  desire  to  preach 
the  gospel,  was  almost,  of  itself,  proof  of  competence  and 
honesty.  The  various  ceremonial  observances,  by  which 
diffisrent  denominations  have,  in  modern  times,  guarded  the 
e/itrances  to  the  gospel  ministry,  are  thus  highly  necessa- 
ry, but  we  ought  to  understand,  that  the  necessity  arises 
out  of  the  circumstances  of  modern  times,  and  not  out  of 
any  binding  obligation  in  favor  of  the  precise  forms,  which 
we  respectively  adopt,  arising  from  apostolic  practices. 

There  is  much  light  thrown  upon  this  subject,  by  the 

case  of  the  Apostle  Paul.     He  seems  not  to  have   been 

ordained  at  all  upon  his  lirst  entrance  into  the  ministry. 

Immediately  upon  his  conversion,   he  went,   at  once,  to 

18 


206  THE    WAY    TO    DO    GOOD.  [Cll.  7. 

Ceremony  waived,  and  why. 

preaching  the  Gospel  at  Damascus,  and  it  was  three  years 
before  he  had  opportunity  even  *'to  confer  with  flesh  and 
blood,"  as  he  terms  it,  referring  to  the  other  apostles,  from 
whom,  according  to  our  theories,  he  could  alone  have  de- 
rived any  proper  authority  to  preach. 

But,  the  reader  will  say,  that,  as  Paul  had  an  interview 
with  the  Savior  himself,  he  derived  his  authority  directly 
from  him,  and  that  there  was  no  need  of  ordination  in  his 
case.  This  is  undoubtedly  true,  and  it  shows  at  once, 
without  farther  reasoning,  exactly  in  what  light  the  Founder 
of  Christianity  regards  forms  ;  as  important  indeed,  but 
important  as  a  means,  not  as  an  end.  For  here,  where  the 
spiritual  title  was  so  sure,  the  Savior  was  content  to  waive 
the  ceremony.  If  now  he  had  intended  to  enforce  upon  all 
succeeding  times,  the  indispensable  necessity  of  any  partic- 
ular ceremonial  conditions  of  induction  into  the  ministry, 
what  an  admirable  occasion  offered  itself,  in  the  case  of 
Paul,  to  show  this,  and  to  teach  the  lesson  to  all  future 
ages.  Instead  of  authorizing  him,  at  once,  to  preach  the 
gospel,  suppose  he  had  enjoined  him  to  wait  until  he  should 
return  to  Jerusalem,  and  there  be  regularly  inducted  into 
office,  according  to  the  principles  of  ordination  which  had 
been  established  for  the  church.  This  would  have  been, 
according  to  the  known  practice  of  our  Savior,  in  all  cases 
of  forms,  really  binding.  The  parents  of  the  Savior,  under 
divine  direction,  took  him  to  the  temple,  when  he  was  eight 
years  old,  and  conformed  exactly  to  all  the  Mosaic  cere- 
monies of  circumcision  and  sacrifice.  Those  ceremonial 
laws  were  then  in  force,  and  the  exalted  dignity  of  the 
Savior  was  made  no  plea  of  exemption.  When  he  cured 
the  leper,  he  said  to  him,*  "  Go  show  thyself  to  the  priest, 
and  offer  for  thy  cleansing  according  as  Moses  commanded, 
for  a  testimony  unto  them."  What!  shall  the  man  whom 
Jesus  Christ  had  cleansed,  find  it  necessary  to  go  and 
secure  a  ceremonial  purification,  according  to  the  law  of 

*  Luke  5  :  14. 


Ch.  7.]  THE    CHURCH    AND    CHRISTIAN    UNION.  207 

Paul  not  ordained  by  Ananias. 

Moses?  Yes.  And  why?  That  he  might  show  that  the 
Son  of  God,  exalted  in  rank  and  character  as  he  is,  will 
give  the  sanction  of  his  example,  to  conformity  with  even 
ceremonial  law,  when  he  comes  within  its  jurisdiction.  On 
this  principle,  he  attended  worship  at  the  synagogues,  he 
paid  his  taxes,  he  ate  the  passover,  and  his  whole  story 
shows  that  he  would  have  been  the  last  to  have  dispensed, 
on  such  an  occasion  as  this,  with  any  of  the  forms  which 
he  had  really  established  as  essential  modes  of  regulation 
for  the  Christian  church. 

Perhaps  the  reader  may  maintain,  in  order  to  avoid  the 
force  of  the  foregoing  reasoning,  that  Paul's  interview  with 
Ananias,  when  the  latter  laid  his  hands  upon  him,  immedi- 
ately after  his  conversion,  was  his  ordination  to  the  work 
of  the  ministry.  The  account  is  given  in  the  9th  chapter 
of  the  Acts, — but  it  is  expressly  stated,  that  the  object  of 
this  laying  on  of  hands,  was  not  to  induct  him  into  the 
ministry,  but  that  he  might  receive  his  sight.  And  then, 
besides,  the  ceremony  was  actually  before  his  baptism. 
Can  any  contender  for  regularity  in  forms  suppose,  that 
Paul  was  ordained  a  minister  of  the  gospel  before  he  was 
baptized? 

Besides,  Paul  was  long  after  ordained,  when  he  was 
sent  forth  as  a  missionary  with  Barnabas  at  Antioch,  as 
recorded.  Acts  13  :  2,  3.  "  The  Holy  Ghost  said.  Separate 
me  Barnabas  and  Saul,  for  the  work  whereunto  I  have 
called  them.  And  when  they  had  fasted  and  prayed,  and 
laid  their  hands  on  them,  they  sent  them  away."  This,  it 
must  be  observed,  was  after  both  of  them  had  been  for  a 
long  time  most  active  and  efficient  preachers  of  the  gospel, 
of  universally  acknowledged  authority.  With  the  views  so 
often  entertained  in  modern  times,  respecting  ordination  in 
a  prescribed  mode,  as  the  only  proper  induction  to  the 
duties  of  the  Christian  ministry,  how  can  this  case  be 
explained  ? 

The  case  of  Apollos,  too,  is  remarkable.     He  was  bora 


208  THE    WAY   TO   DO    GOOD.  [Ch.  7. 

ApoUos.  The  ceremony  of  ordination,  a  specimen. 

in  Alexandria,  and  carae  to  Ephesus,  preaching  repentance 
and  a  coming  Savior.  EloqueDt  and  mighty  in  the  Scrip- 
tures, his  preaching  had  great  power,  but  so  far  from  hav- 
ing been  regularly  ordained  by  the  apostles, — "he  knew 
only  the  baptism  of  John.^*  While,  however,  he  was  thus 
preaching  all  that  he  had  learned  of  the  truth,  Aquila  and 
Priscilla  met  with  him.  And  what  did  they  do?  Did  they 
remonstrate  with  him,  for  pretending  to  preach  without 
apostolic  ordination  .''  Did  they  remonstrate, — did  they 
try  to  silence  him?  No.  They  took  him  unto  them,  and 
*' expounded  the  way  ot  Grod  more  perfectly,"  and  then 
bid  him  go  on.  They  gave  him  letters  of  introduction  to 
the  churches  in  Achaia,  exhorting  the  disciples  to  receive 
him.*  And  in  the  same  manner,  we  shall  find  in  regard  to 
a  lar^^e  proportion  of  the  early  preachers,  that  there  is  no 
record  or  account  of  their  ordination  as  ministers  of  the 
gospel,  whatever.  Whereas,  if  it  had  been  intended  that 
the  church  should,  in  all  coming  times,  comply  with  certain 
conditions  of  ordination,  as  essential  to  the  proper  exercise 
of  the  duties  of  the  Christian  ministry,  there  certainly 
would  have  been  good  care  taken,  to  show  that  they  were 
complied  with  then. 

We  have  taken  the  ceremony  of  ordination,  only,  as  a 
conspicuous  specimen.  Almost  any  of  the  other  forms 
cormected  with  the  organization  of  the  church,  might  have 
been  taken  just  as  well.  And,  let  me  repeat  here,  that 
these  considerations  do  not  at  all  go  to  the  undermining  or 
disturbing  the  regular  ordinances  of  the  Christian  church, 
as  now  administered,  by  the  various  denominations  of  our 
day.  These  views,  if  we  adopt  them,  will  not  diminish 
our  attachment  to  the  forms  of  our  own  church,  for  the 
regular  and  appropriate  administration  of  its  government; 
they  will  only  lead  us  to  cease  to  look  with  jealousy  and 
distrust  upon  the  forms  and  principles  adopted  by  other 
denominations,  varying  somewhat  from  ours. 

•  See  the  whole  account,  in  the  close  of  the  18th  chapter  of  the  Act9. 


Ch.  7.]         THE    CHtJRCH   AND    CHRISTIAN    UNION.  209 

Apostolic  practice  oot  infallible. 

V.  The  present  authority  of  these  usages,  rests  only  on 
the  mere  practice  of  good  men  in  early  times,  which  is 
nowhere  in  the  Scriptures  made  binding. 

It  is  evident,  that  Apostolic  practice  was  not  always  un- 
der divine  direction,  and,  if  we  attempt  to  make  it  an  infal- 
lible guide,  we  have  no  positive  means  of  knowing  when 
it  was,  and  when  it  was  not.  In  some  cases,  it  is  distinct- 
ly stated  that  the  conduct  of  the  Apostles  was  directed  by 
the  Holy  Spirit.  For  instance,  in  the  case  of  sending  Paul 
and  Barnabas  on  their  first  mission,  *'  The  Holy  Ghost  said. 
Separate  me  Barnabas  and  Saul,"  &c.  And  so  in  another 
case;  "They  assayed  to  go  into  Bithynia,  but  the  Spirit 
suffered  them  not.^^  The  interference  of  a  divine  influence, 
seems  to  be  mentioned  in  these  cases,  as  special, — extra- 
ordinary. At  any  rate,  we  know  perfectly  well,  that  in 
many  of  the  acts  of  their  administration,  these  holy  men 
were  not  under  divine  guidance.  Of  this,  the  case  of 
contention,  which  occurred  between  Barnabas  and  Saul,  is 
a  melancholy  proof  The  question  in  that  case,  was,  it  is 
true,  only  a  question  of  private,  individual  action;  but  then 
there  were  other  cases,  where  the  apostles  were  evidently 
left  to  their  own  judgment  and  discretion,  in  regard  to  the 
most  important  measures  of  the  church.  The  case  describ- 
ed in  Galatians  2:  11 — 13.*  is  a  very  striking  one  of  this 
sort.  The  question  related  to  the  course  which  should  be 
taken  with  the  Gentile  converts,  in  regard  to  the  obliga- 
tions of  the  old  Jewish  law.  It  involved  the  vital  subject  of 
the  connection  between  the  old  dispensation  and  the  new, 
and  the  manner  in  which  the  latter  should  be  ingrafted 
upon  the  former.     There  could  scarcely  be  named  a  sub- 

*  But  when  Peter  was  come  to  Antioch,  I  withstood  him  to  the  face,  be- 
cause he  was  to  be  blamed.  For  before  that  certain  came  from  Jame^,  he 
did  eat  with  the  Gentiles:  but  when  they  were  come,  he  withdrew,  and  sepa- 
rated himself,  fearing  them  which  were  of  the  circumcision.  And  the  other 
Jews  dissembled  likewise  with  hvm;  insomuch  that  Barnabas,  also,  was  car- 
ried away  with  their  dissimulation. 

18* 


^10  THE   WAY   TO    DO    GOOD.  [Ch.  7 


Distinction  between  writings  and  acts. 


ject,  connected  with  the  external  forms  of  Christianity, 
more  fundamental  than  this.  Yet  Peter,  Peter  himself,  the 
very  apostle  to  whom  the  gospel  of  circumcision  was  spe- 
cially committed,*  was  left  to  err  in  regard  to  it,  and  to 
take  an  altogether  wrong  course.  His  error  led  Barnabas 
astray,  and  Paul  comes  in  and  sharply  reproves  him  before 
them  all.  With  such  a  case  as  this,  on  record,  we  certain- 
ly cannot  maintain  the  infallibility  of  apostolic  practice. 

We  ought  to  make  a  clear  distinction  between  the  truths, 
which  sacred  writers  have  recorded,  and  the  actions,  which 
they  performed.  This  distinction  is  not  always  made.  We 
confound  the  inspiration  of  the  writings,  contained  in  the 
Scriptures,  with  the  inspiration  of  the  conduct,  of  those  who 
penned  them.  Now  it  is  tlie  Scriptures,  that  is,  the  written 
records  of  truth,  which  are  our  only  rule  of  faith  and  prac- 
tice. The  actual  ineasures  adopted  in  those  days,  are  total- 
ly distinct,  and  it  is,  we  believe,  nowhere  claimed  by  the 
sacred  writers,  that  their  actions,  (whether  in  their  private 
conduct,  or  in  their  administration  of  the  affairs  of  the 
church,)  are  an  infallible  guide  for  us.  In  fact,  if  we  read 
the  New  Testament  attentively,  with  a  view  to  this  point, 
we  shall  be  satisfied  that  the  Apostles,  in  their  administra- 
tion of  the  church,  acted  for  themselves,  and  for  their  own 
times,  not  expecting  that  their  conduct  would  be  regarded 
as  a  binding  precedent  for  all  future  ages.  In  their  record, 
whether  of  historical  events,  or  of  revealed  religious  truth, 
they  were  infallibly  guided;  but  in  their  actions,  they  were 
left  to  their  own  judgment  and  discretion, — subject,  of 
course,  to  the  influence  of  such  general  principles  and 
truths,  as  had  been  revealed  to  them.  Consequently,  they 
went  on,  acting  as  occasion  demanded  ;  adopting  such 
plans  and  measures,  or  applying  such  remedies  as  were 
called  for,  by  the  peculiar  emergencies  in  which  they  were 
placed.  Sometimes  they  were  right,  sometimes  they  were 
wrong, — sometimes  they  were  checked  in  their  proposed 
♦  Gal.  2  : 7. 


Cll.  7.]  THE    CHTjRCH   and    CHRISTIAN    UJVION.  2t  1 


Apostolic  example  of  great  value. 


measures  by  a  special  interference  of  the  Holy  Spirit, 
sometimes  they  disagreed  and  even  contended;  and  if  we 
attempt  to  give  to  any  of  their  measures  the  authority  of  a 
precedent,  binding  upon  the  church  in  all  ages,  we  cannot 
possibly  draw  a  line  between  what  is  thus  authoritative,  and 
what  is  not. 

Still,  we  must  not  go  to  the  other  extreme,  and  disregard 
the  examples  they  have  set  us.  The  practices  and  usages 
of  the  early  Christians  constitute  the  very  best  model,  no 
doubt,  for  us  to  study  and  to  imitate.  They  enjoyed  the 
most  favorable  opportunities  of  knowing  what  would  be 
agreeable  to  the  will  of  their  Master,  and  their  hearts  were 
warm  with  a  devotedness  to  his  cause,  which  must  have 
led  them  to  do  his  will,  in  the  most  strict  and  faithful  man- 
ner. We  ought  therefore,  to  study  their  acts,  and  imitate 
the  principles  by  which  they  were  guided.  But  when  we 
attempt  to  extend  to  their  conduct,  the  infallibility  which 
belongs  only  to  their  writings, — when  we  give  to  their 
measures  and  administration,  an  authority  to  bind  all  suc- 
ceeding times,  we  insist  upon  what  they  never  claimed  for 
themselves,  and  what  cannot,  in  theory,  be  supported,  in  the 
case  of  any  scripture  character  whatever.  Noah,  David, 
Solomon,  Daniel,  Paul,  Peter,  and  John,  give  abundant 
evidence  that  they  were  inspired  as  penmen  alone. 

The  disposition  thus  to  exalt  the  measures  and  adminis- 
tration adopted  by  the  apostles,  into  precedents  as  binding 
upon  our  forms  of  organization,  as  their  writings  are  upon 
our  belief  and  moral  conduct, — though  it  is  thus  utterly 
baseless  and  defenceless  in  theory ,-i-steals  insensibly  over 
our  minds,  and  exerts  a  powerful  influfenee.  In  fact,  we 
could  not  attach  infallibility  to  apostolic  practice  as  an 
avowed  theory.  Such  a  doctrine  could  not  be  maintained 
for  an  hour;  but  it  insensibly  creeps  into  our  minds,  and 
we  find  ourselves  tacitly  admitting,  and  silently  acting  upon 
that,  which,  as  a  distinctly  stated  proposition,  we  should 
immediately  reject.     I  repeat  it,  that  apostolic  example  is 


212  THE   WAY   TO   DO   GOOD.  [Ch.  7. 

Scripture  system  incomplete. 

of  immense  value  and  importance  to  us,- — but  it  is  not 
authoritative  precedent,  so  that  we  are  to  reduce  it  to 
system,  and  force  it  upon  every  company  of  Christians  on 
the  globe,  upon  pain  of  excommunication.  And  yet  this 
is  the  true  secret  of  the  divisions  and  jealousies,  which 
prevail  in  the  Christian  world.  The  incidental,  scattered, 
and  imperfect  allusions,  which  the  Apostles  made,  to  the 
measures  they  thought  called  for  in  their  days,  in  which 
there  is  no  evidence  whatever,  that  they  were  infallibly 
guided,  and  which  they  probably  never  thought  would  be 
looked  back  upon  as  infallible  precedents, — these  allusions 
we  search  out  and  bring  together, — we  build  up  a  great 
deal  of  meaning  upon  expressions  very  brief  and  few,  and 
we  mingle  with  the  natural  import  of  the  record,  the  re- 
collections and  associations  with  which  our  own  peculiar 
religious  history  has  stored  our  minds, — and  the  compli- 
cated system  which  we  thus  fopm,  we  insist,  is  essential  to 
Christianity. 

VI.  The  most  complete  system  which  can  be  drawn 
from  these  records  of  early  practice,  is  not  at  all  sufficient 
for  the  present  wants  of  the  Church. 

This  is  admitted  by  the  fact,  that  every  denomination  in 
Christendom,  has  found  it  necessary  in  practice  to  eke  out 
the  scripture  system  by  their  own  additions.  If  any  very 
great  stress  had  been  laid  upon  the  precise  form  of  organi- 
zation, under  which  the  church  was  to  exist  in  all  ages,  we 
should  have  expected  that  a  complete  and  sufficient  system 
would  have  been  detailed,  or  at  least  exemplified,  in  the 
primitive  model.  Instead  of  this,  the  practice  of  every 
denomination  in  Christendom  admits,  that  after  all  that  the 
most  persevering  ingenuity  can  draw  from  the  Scriptures, 
has  been  obtained,  there  must  be  many  human  additions  to 
the  edifice,  to  give  it  completion.  The  Congregationalist 
finds  no  authority  in  the  Scriptures  for  his  examining  com- 


Ch.  7.]  THE    CHURCH    AND    CHRISTIAN    UNION.  213 


Congregational  additions  ;  —  episcopal. 


mittee,  nor  for  his  articles  of  faith,  nor  for  his  system  of 
licensing  preachers,  nor  for  his  election  of  a  pastor  by 
concurrence  of  church  and  society,  nor  for  his  associations, 
or  his  consociations,  or  his  conferences.  And  yet  these 
things  may  all  be  right, — they  are  the  best  modes  which 
he  can  devise  for  accomplishing  very  important  purposes, 
and  for  which  the  directions  as  to  forms,  left  us  in  the  New 
Testament,  make  no  provision.  And  how  can  we  account 
for  their  not  having  been  provided  for,  if  the  precise  reg- 
ulation of  forms  had  been  considered  by  the  sacred  writers 
an  object  of  very  special  importance. 

The  Episcopalian,  too,  is  in  the  same  case.  He  can  find 
no  authority  or  precedent  in  the  Scriptures,  and  so  far  as 
we  know,  he  pretends  to  find  none,  for  his  rite  of  confirma- 
tion, his  consecration  of  buildings  and  grounds,  his  church 
wardens,  his  vestry,  his  liturgy,  his  saints'  days,  his  arch- 
bishops, and  lords  primate,  in  one  country,  and  his  gen- 
eral conventions  in  another.  We  do  not  find  fault  with 
these  arrangements,  on  account  of  there  being  no  scripture 
authority  for  them.  Though  they  are  all  human  institu- 
tions and  arrangements,  they  are  very  admirably  adapted, 
most  of  them,  to  the  purposes  intended.  And  as  the  Holy 
Spirit  allowed  the  Bible  to  be  brought  to  a  close,  without 
giving  any  directions  in  regard  to  the  very  important  objects 
which  they  aim  at  securing,  the  church  is  necessarily  left 
to  frame  institutions  for  itself,  to  cover  this  ground.  Every 
denomination  has  virtually  acknowledged  this,  by  resorting 
to  plans  and  measures  for  which  nothing  like  a  prototype 
can  be  found  in  early  ages.  In  fact,  we  are  all  compelled 
to  do  this,  for  many  of  the  most  immediate  and  imperious 
wants  of  the  church,  in  respect  to  its  government  and  dis- 
cipline, seem  to  be  lefl;  without  any  provision  for  them.  If 
the  sacred  writers  had  felt  that  the  precise  mode  in  which 
Christianity  is  embodied  in  organized  forms  was  of  as  much 
importance  as  we  are  often  inclined  to  suppose,  and  if  they 
had  intended  to  frame  a  system  for  this  purpose,  and  hand 


214  THE    WAY  TO    DO    GOOD.  [Cll.   7. 

The  most  essential  points  unprovided  for. 

it  down  as  a  model  for  all  posterity,  is  it  conceivable  that 
they  would  have  made  no  provision  for  the  mode  of  support- 
ing the  gospel,  or  any  of  the  temporalities  of  the  church, — 
nor  for  the  mode  of  electing  or  appointing  pastors,  nor  for 
the  examination  of  candidates,  nor  for  the  admission  of 
members,  nor  for  the  trial  and  deposition  of  false  teachers, 
nor  for  the  management  of  missionary  operations,  nor  for 
the  erection  and  control  of  houses  for  public  worship?  In 
the  Jewish  law,  points  analogous  to  these,  were  most  mi- 
nutely and  fully  provided  for,  by  ample  specifications,  for 
iherCy  it  was  the  intention  to  prescribe  a  form. 

The  reader  may,  perhaps,  endeavor  to  avoid  the  conclu- 
sion to  which  these  undeniable  facts  would  lead  him,  by 
saying  that  r.U  essential  arrangements  are  made,  and  that 
it  is  things  of  secondary  importance  only,  which  are  left  to 
human  discretion.  This  is,  however,  not  so.  Some  of  the 
particulars  enumerated  above,  are  of  the  very  first  impor- 
tance, and  provision  for  them  is  wholly  omitted.  Others, 
of  very  far  less  importance  are  prescribed.  Compare,  for 
instance,  the  mode  of  baptism,  whether  by  sprinkling  or 
immersion,  with  the  mode  of  examining  candidates  for  ad- 
mission into  the  church,  or  the  mode  of  choosing  pastors, 
or  collecting  the  support  of  the  ministry.  While  we  admit 
that  the  former,  once  prescribed,  brings  with  it  the  most 
imperious  obligation  to  conform  to  the  prescription,  yet 
certainly  no  one  would  imagine  that  that  would  be  the 
thing  selected  as  the  one  to  be  minutely  fixed,  while  the 
others-were  to  be  left  without  any  regulation.  So  that  it  is 
not  the  most  important  things  which  will  be  found  on  ex- 
amination, that  modern  Christians  maintain  to  have  been 
enjoined. 

Besides,  we  do  not  now  make  in  practice,  any  such  dis- 
tinction, between  what  was  originally  required  by  the  Apos- 
tles, and  the  human  additions  which  have  since  been  made. 
We  put  the  human  and  the  divine  parts  of  the  building 
together,  and  make  one  system  which  we  insist  upon  as  a 


Ch.  7.]  THE    CHURCH    AND    CHRISTIAN    UNION.  215 


Possible  perversion  of  these  views. 


whole.  The  use  of  liturgy  is  insisted  upon  as  firmly,  and 
considered  as  essential  a  condition  of  ministerial  connec- 
tion with  the  Episcopal  church,  as  valid  ordination.  At 
least,  according  to  the  theory,  no  person  can  be  a  member 
of  the  true  church  of  Christ,  without  adopting  the  one,  as 
well  as  admitting  the  authority  of  the  other,  and  the  Cath- 
olic is  not  less  tenacious,  to  say  the  least,  of  homage  to  the 
host,  than  of  the  observance  of  the  Sabbath-day. 

Though  we  cannot  but  be  fully  satisfied  of  the  truth  of 
these  views,  we  are  aware  that,  like  all  other  truths,  they 
are  liable  to  be  perverted  through  the  almost  incurable  pro- 
pensities of  many  minds,  to  run  off  into  extremes.  The 
considerations  which  we  have  adduced,  show  conclusively, 
that  the  precise  forms  and  modes  of  administering  ecclesi- 
astical government  are  not  prescribed, — hence,  some  per- 
sons will  go  by  one  of  those  leaps  of  ratiocination  to  which 
a  crazy  intellect  is  fully  adequate,  to  the  conclusion  that  all 
ceremony  is  unscriptural,  and  all  steady  forms  of  govern- 
ment and  discipline,  useless  trammels  upon  spiritual  free- 
dom. And  perhaps  some  may  gravely  insist,  that  they 
cannot  perceive  the  distinction,  between  giving  up  the 
necessity  of  regular  organization  altogether,  and  denying 
that  the  precise  forms  under  which  it  is  to  be  eflTected,  are 
minutely  prescribed.  And  yet  there  is  the  marriage  rela- 
tion to  furnish  us  with  a  striking  and  clear  illustration  of  it. 
The  necessity  of  a  ceremony  so  arranged  as  to  make  sure 
the  important  points,  such  as  the  deliberate,  settled  inten- 
tion of  the  parties,  the  voluntariness  of  it  on  both  sides, 
and  public  opportunity  for  the  presentation  of  valid  objec- 
tions, is  admitted  every  where.  The  principles  enjoined  in 
the  Word  of  God,  virtually  require  this,  and  the  practice 
of  all  Christian  states  recognise  it.  And  yet,  while  this 
necessity  is  almost  every  where  recognised,  acknowledged, 
and  acted  upon,  and  these  points  almost  every  where 
secured,  how  endlessly  various  are  the  modes  of  securing 
them.     Now  these  variations  are  of  no  great  consequence, 


216  THE   WAY    TO    DO    GOOD.  [Ch.   7. 


The  marriage  ceremony. 


provided  that  the  points  are  secured.  It  is,  for  example,  of 
not  very  material  consequence  whether  the  intention  of  mar- 
riage is  made  public  by  the  voice  of  the  town  clerk,  or  by  a 
posted  notice  on  the  church  door,  or  by  the  publishing  of 
the  banns  in  an  interval  of  the  service,  or  by  advertising  in 
a  newspaper, — provided  that  it  is  made  public  in  some  way 
or  other;  and  provided,  that  some  regular  and  prescribed 
form,  is  adopted  in  every  community  for  securing  it.  One 
uniform  mode  for  all  nations  and  ages  is  not  prescribed  in 
the  gospel, — but  each  nation  and  age  is  left  to  choose  its 
own.  It  by  no  means  follows  from  this,  however,  that  any 
nation  or  age,  is  at  liberty  to  abandon  marriage  ceremonies 
altogether.  There  is  an  obligation  to  take  some  proper 
ceremonial  measures  for  securing  certain  essential  points, 
but  no  obligation  in  respect  to  the  precise  form  of  the  meas- 
ures themselves. 

In  the  same  manner,  the  principles  of  the  gospel  require 
that  the  church  should  in  all  ages,  make  suitable  ceremo- 
nial arrangements  for  the  proper  examination  of  candidates 
for  admission  to  the  church,  and  for  the  deliberate  and 
solemn  induction  of  pastors  to  the  sacred  office,  and  for  the 
regular  and  orderly  support  of  the  Christian  ministry;  but 
while  the  obligation  to  see  that  some  proper  provision  for 
Licse  points  is  made,  is  imperious,  there  seems  to  be  no 
authoritative  precedent  as  to  the  precisa  form  they  shall 
assume.  Thus,  in  respect  to  the  candidate  for  admission 
to  the  communion  of  the  church,  the  various  branches  of 
the  church  have  made  very  different  provisions.  There  is 
the  Methodist  class  leader  In  one  case,  the  Episcopal  bish- 
op with  the  right  of  confirmation  in  another,  and  the  Con- 
gregational examining  committee,  and  the  Presbyterian 
session;  all  good  and  sufficient,  but  no  scripture  authority 
for  any  one  of  them.  There  are  scripture  principles  re- 
quiring some  one  or  other  of  them,  or  something  equiva- 
lent, to  guard  the  Christian  church  from  universal  corrup- 
tion,— but  there  is  no  scripture  precepts,  specifying  either 


Cl^.  7.]  THE    CHURCH    AND    CHRISTIAN    UNION.  217 


Rite  of  confirmation. 


of  these  modes  or  any  other,  as  the  precise  mode,  by  which 
these  objects  should  be  secured.  It  is,  therefore,  no  valid 
ground  of  objection  to  the  Episcopal  rite  of  confirmation,  for 
example,  that  the  service  was  drawn  up  in  the  middle  ages, — 
a  human  contrivance  of  modern  times.  It  is  true  that  it  was 
80  drawn  up;  it  is  true  that  that  service  is  a  human  contri- 
vance of  modern  times,- — but  it  is^  contrivance  to  accom- 
plish a  purpose  which  the  principles  of  Christiapity  require 
us  to  accomplish,  viz.  the  deliberate,  and  cautious,  and 
solemn  admission  of  members  to  the. communion  of  the 
church,—- while  they  have  left  us  no  prescription  of  the 
mode  by  which  we  should  accomplish  it;  and  we  are  con- 
sequently left  to  frame  a  service  of  confirmation,  or  to 
organize  a  church  session,  or  appoint  a  committee,  accord- 
ing to  the  circumstances  and  character  of  our  age  or  coun- 
try, and  our  own  best  discretion. 

These  remarks  are  necessary  to  show,  that  throughout 
the  whole  discussion  contained  in  this  chapter,  nothing  is 
intended  to  be  said  to  undervalue  the  importance  of  proper 
and  steady  ceremonial  regulations,  in  every  branch  of  the 
church.  Without  these,  the  objects  which  the  general 
principles  of  organization  laid  down  in  the  gospel,  require, 
cannot  be  secured.  And  as  we  have  already  remarked, 
the  views  exhibited  in  this  chapter,  will  not,  if  we  fully 
adopt  them,  diminish  our  attachment  to  the  ceremonies  of 
our  own  communion,  nor  weaken  our  conviction  of  the  im- 
portance of  regular  and  steady  arrangements  for  the  gov- 
ernment and  worship  of  the  church.  They  will  only  con- 
vince us  that  it  is  only  the  general  principles  which  the 
New  Testament  presses;  and  that  as  one  branch  of  the 
church  has,  in  the  exercise  of  its  own  discretion,  arranged 
the  details  of  its  government  and  discipline  with  reference 
to  the  wants  of  its  own  country  and  times,  it  ought  not  to 
be  jealous  at  the  exercise  of  the  same  discretionary  power 
on  the  part  of  another. 
19 


218  THE    WAY    TO    DO    GOOD,  [Ch.  7. 


Danger  of  one  consolidated  government. 


VII.  The  union  of  Christians  under  any  one  consoli- 
dated ecclesiastical  government,  must  be  highly  dangerous, 
if  not  fatal,  to  the  cause  of  true  piety. 

Think  of  one  great  organization,  ramifying  into  every 
country,  involving  itself  with  the  poHtical  concerns  of  a 
hundred  governments,  forming  one  great  and  united  com- 
munity, with  its  own  rules  and  usages,  and  conditions  of 
admission, — and  extending,  even  in  the  present  state  of 
Christianity,  over  two  continents.  What  avenues  for  am- 
bition— what  a  field  for  political  intrigue  would  such  a 
system  present  !  How  impossible  that  the  Author  of  the 
sermon  on  the  mount,  could  have  contemplated  such  a 
system  for  extending  among  mankind,  the  meek  and  hum- 
ble virtues  of  the  gospel. 

But  we  are  saved  the  necessity  of  speculating  on  the 
probable  consequences  of  such  a  plan,  for  we  have  had  the 
experiment.  The  church  in  the  middle  ages,  exhibits  to 
us  the  scene ;  clothed  with  power  and  splendor, — in  herself 
a  continental  empire, — she  opened  the  highest  and  broad- 
est field  for  human  ambition,  and  was  the  great  corrupter 
and  destroyer  of  souls.  Christianity  then  felt  the  effects, 
which  such  a  system  must  inevitably  bring.  She  shone 
in  courts, — she  rode  in  splendid  processions, ^she  was  a 
party  to  every  political  quarrel,  and  oflen  led  her  own 
troops  on  to  open  war.  She  put  her  victims  to  the  torture, 
buried  true  piety  in  dungeons,  and  burnt  the  innocent  at 
the  stake;  while  true  devotedness  to  the  real  gospel  of 
Christ,  fled  from  her  presence  and  her  power,  and  hid 
itself  in  dens  and  caves  of  the  earth,  or  escaped  to  the  fast- 
nesses of  the  mountains.  These,  too,  were  not  accidental 
and  extraordinary  effects.  They  were  the  natural  results, 
they  might  easily  have  been  foreseen  as  the  inevitable  con- 
sequences of  presenting  such  a  field  to  human  ambition 
and  intrigue,  as  one  ecclesiastical  organization,  extending 
over  fifty  or  a  hundred  nations,  and  governed  by  one  cen- 
tral power. 


Ch.  7.]  THE    CHURCH    AND    CHRISTIAN    UNION.  219 

t  Sanction  of  God's  Spirit. 

I        VIII.     God   sanctions   by  the  influences   of  his  Holy 
*■    Spirit,  the  existence  and  the  operations  of  all  those  denom- 
inations of  Christians,  whatever  may  be  their  forms,  whose 
faith  and  practice  correspond  with  his  Word. 

This  is  evident  from  the  success  which  has  for  the  last 
century  attended  the  efforts  of  the  several  great  branches 
I  of  the  church,  differing  widely  as  they  do,  in  their  modes 
■;  of  organization  and  worship.  This  arrangement,  one 
would  think,  must  have  some  influence  upon  all  those 
who  believe  that  the  special  influences  of  the  Holy  Spirit 
are  necessary  to  the  success  of  any  of  our  efforts  to  spread 
the  gospel.  By  giving  triumphant  success  in  so  many 
instances,  to  the  preaching  of  the  gospel,  under  Epis- 
copalian, and  Baptist,  and  Methodist,  and  Presbyterian, 
and  Congregational  forms,  does  not  the  Holy  Spirit  sanc- 
tion the  organizations  under  which  these  several  branches 
of  the  church  respectively  act,  at  least,  so  far  as  to  show, 
that  there  is  nothing  in  either,  which  excludes  them  from 
being  branches  of  the  true  church  of  Christ.  If  the  suc- 
cess of  efforts  to  save  souls  was  a  result  which  human  in- 
strumentality could  itself  secure,  unaided  and  alone,  we 
should  not  argue  divine  approbation  from  the  mere  fact, 
,  that  God  would  not  interfere  to  prevent  success.  But  when 
it  is  admitted  that  success  cannot  be  obtained  without  the 
special  agency  and  co-operation  of  God,  one  would  think 
its  attainment  would  prove  that  the  organization  under 
which  it  is  secured,  could  not  be  regarded  by  the  Holy 
Spirit  as  very  radically  wrong.  We  cannot  suppose  that 
he  would  habitually  appear  to  give  his  influences  to  sys- 
tems of  government  and  discipline  opposed  to  the  direc- 
tions of  Scripture,  and  whose  prevalence  could  only  tend 
to  undermine  and  destroy  the  true  church  of  God.  The 
argument  which  Peter  used,  to  prove  that  Gentiles,  re- 
maining such,  might  be  admitted  to  the  church  of  God, 
was,  that   "God   bears  them   witness,   giving   them   the 


220  THE    WAY    TO    DO    GOOD.  [Ch.  7. 

The  result.  Present  state  of  the  church.  Cities ;  villages. 

Holy  Ghost,  even  as  he  did  unto  us,  and  put  no  difference 
between  us  and  them,  purifying  their  hearts  by  faith."* 
This  argument  seems  to  be  as  good  and  as  a|>plicable 
now,  as  then.  Whom  the  Holy  Spirit  acknowledges,  we 
ought  not  to  disown. 

Now,  are  not  these  considerations  sufficient  to  show,  at 
least,  that  the  degree  of  importance  now  commonly  attach- 
ed to  the  distinctive  peculiarities  of  the  various  denomi- 
nations 6f  Christians,  is  greater  than  the  real  state  of  the 
case  will  justify.  We  believe  that  they  do,  and  that  the 
admission  of  this  truth  by  the  churches  generally,  affords 
the  only  hope  of  the  healing  of  our  dissensions,  which, 
perhaps,  more  than  all  other  causes  combined,  hinder  the 
progress  of  religion.  The  present  state  of  things  is  cer- 
tainly melancholy  in  the  extreme.  Each  of  the  several 
great  denominations,  considering  its  own  peculiarities 
essential  to  the  character  of  a  true  church,  the  members 
of  one  are  suspicious  and  jealous  of  the  others.  They 
must  necessarily  be  sd,  for  thcy  must  regard  all  others  as 
schismatics.  They  muy,  indeed;  allow  that  many  of  the 
members  of  other  communions,  as  individuals,  are  good 
men,  but,  as  organized  into  ecclesiastical  bodies,  they 
must  deem  them  irregular  and  schismatical.  Thus  the 
members  of  each  denomination  excommunicate  the  others, 
and  must  do  so  as  long  as  they  maintain  that  their  own 
peculiarities,  though  not  necessary  to  personal  salvation, 
are  essential  to  the  character  of  a  true  Church.  There  is, 
accordingly,  between  these  denominations,  at  the  central 
points,  in  great  cities,  suspicion,  jealousy,  mistrust,  man- 
oeuvring and  counter  manoeuvring.  And  the  evil  influence 
spreads  out  to  the  remotest  extremities,  among  the  remote 
and  thinly  peopled  districts  of  the  country.  The  evil  is,  in 
fact,  aggravated  here,  for  all  the  Christian  strength  which 
can  be  gathered  from  the  thin  and  scattered  population,  is 
only  sufficient  to  sustain  and  carry  forward  the  cause  of 

*  Acta  15:  8,  9. 


If 


Ch.  7.]  THE    CHURCH    AND    CHRISTIAN    UNION.  S21 

The  real  difficulty.  Permanence  of  it. 

Christ,  if  united  and  at  peace.  But  divided,  and  mutually 
jealous  and  hostile,  their  moral  power  is  destroyed,  and  the 
community  around  them  slumbers  hopelessly  in  its  sins. 

And  observe,  that  it  is  not  the  fact  of  division  alone, 
which  makes  the  case  so  desperate.  It  is  the  circum- 
stance, that  each  branch  considers  the  others  irregular  and 
spurious,  so  as  to  make  it  a  matter  of  conscience  to  oppose 
them.  It  is  the  fact,  that  each  one  is  so  sure  that  its  own 
peculiarities  are  essential  to  such  an  organization  as  will 
be  pleasing  to  the  Savior,  that  it  must  utterly  condemn  all 
others.  This  makes  each  one  hopelessly  rigid  and  tena- 
cious of  its  position.  It  gives  to  party  spirit^  a  perverted 
conscience  for  an  ally,  in  the  work  of  keeping  up  the  walls 
which  separate  them;  and  of  all  alliances,  this  is  the  most 
obstinate  and  indissoluble.  Even  the  outpouring  of  the 
Spirit  upon  a  Christian  community  thus  situated,  does  not 
remove  the  evil.  For  if  men  honestly  believe  that  the 
communion  of  Christians  to  which  they  do  not  belong,  is  not 
organized  on  principles  acceptable  to  Christ,  they  must 
oppose  it, — secretly  or  openly,  they  must,  if  they  are  faith- 
ful, oppose  it.  And  the  more  their  hearts  are  stimulated 
to  interest  and  fidelity  in  the  Savior's  cause,  the  more 
decided  will  be  their  hostility.  They  may  suppress  oi 
conceal  it,  but  it  will  still  reign.  It  will  keep  its  hold 
in  every  denomination,  notwithstanding  all  pretensions  to 
brotherly  love,  so  long  as  the  false  idea  is  retained,  that 
Jesus  Christ  meant  to  prescribe  all  the  peculiarities  which 
they  respectively  insist  upon.  While  this  idea  remains, 
there  cannot  even  be  a  plea  for  union  offered,  by  any  one 
who  entertains  it,  which  will  amount  to  any  thing  more,  in 
fact,  than  a  call  upon  the  members  of  other  denominations, 
to  come  and  join  his  own. 

Such  is   the  condition  of  the  Christian  church;   while, 

in  the  meantime,  the  world  lies  almost  undisturbed  in  its 

sins.      Nature,    however,    in   this,    as    in   other   diseases, 

prompts  to  some  struggles  for  relief     These  spontaneous 

19* 


222  THE   WAY   TO    DO    GOOD.  [Ch   7 

The  disease  an  intermittent.  Hot  fit  and  cold  fit. 

efforts  are  of  two  kinds, — first  come  contentions  by  argu- 
ment, each  party  attempting  to  prove  that  its  own  forms 
are  according  to  the  true  apostolic  model.  An  argument 
from  one  quarter,  arouses  resistance  and  a  counter  argu- 
ment from  another;  and  all  being  equally  in  the  wrong,  in 
claiming  exclusive  validity  for  their  own  modes,  the  result 
of  the  contest  depends  upon  theability  of  the  leaders,  or 
the  circumstances  and  prejudices  of  the  minds  they  act 
upon.  Things  remain,  however,  in  general,  very  much 
the  same  after  the  battle,  as  before;"  -no  extensive  changes 
of  opinion  result,  though  each  one  -clings,  in  Consequence 
of  the  contest,  more  strongly  to  his  own.  At  length, 
wearied  out  with  the  unprofitable  warfare,  the  parties  sink 
into  a  state  of  temporary  repose. 

This  fruitless  struggle  being  over,  it  is  succeeded,  per- 
haps, after  a  short  pause,  by  one  of  a  different  kind.  A 
fit  of  love  and  cO-operatioii  comes  on.  Union  in  measures 
and  plans  is  proposed, ^^the  parties  each  still  thinking, 
that  its  own  chtlrch  is  the  only  true  one.  They  agree, 
however,  to  lay  aside  the  discussion  of  the  theory,  and 
see  if  they  cannot  act  together;  and  they  form  a  benev- 
olent society,  or  arrange  a  union  prayer  meeting,  or  a 
pubHc  lecture  in  common.  But  while  each  portion  of  the 
church  considers  its  peculiarities  essential,  and  all  other 
organizations  schismatic,  what  kind  of  a  union  can  this 
be  ?  It  is  inevitable  that  each  party  will  be  watchful  and 
jealous.  If  they  mean  to  take  a  high-minded  and  honor- 
able course,  they  will  be  anxious  and  watchful,  lest  they 
should  themselves  do  something  to  offend  their  allies;  and, 
if  on  the  other  hand,  they  are  narrow-minded,  and  envious^ 
they  will  be  on  the  watch,  lest  the  others  should  do  some- 
thing unjust  towards  them.  The  very  nature  of  the  case 
shows,  what  all  experience  confirms,  that  such  alliances 
between  the  denominations,  while  each  one  considers  itself 
the  only  true  church,  will  always  be  of  the  nature,  not  of  a 
peace  among  friends,~but  of  a  temporary  and  jealous  truce 
between  foes. 


Ch.  7.]  THE    CHUltCH    AND    CHillSTIAN    UNION.  '103 

The  old  texts.  The  only  remedy  for  the  evil. 

Accordingly,  after  this  has  been  tried  a  little  while,  the 
lurking  alienation  creeps  in  again.  The  public  lecture 
etids  in  a  general  heart  burning  among  the  branches  of  the 
church,  instead  of  conviction  among  the  impenitent; — the 
great  benevolent  society  resolves  itself  into  its  sectarian 
elements;  and  the  union  prayer  meeting,  perhaps,  breaks 
up  in  an  open  explosion. 

Then,  perhaps,  comes  on  another  controversy,  in  which 
the  same  old  arguments,  the  same  old  texts,  the  same  eld 
quoting  of  precedents,  and  straining  of  words,  and  empha- 
sising of  particles,  are  brought  forward^  against  one  an- 
other for  the  thousandth  time,  to  prove  what  never  can 
be  proved.  Thus  the  disease  alternates.  It  is  an  inter- 
mittent. There  is  the  cold  stage  and  the  hot  stage; — the 
chilly  fit  of  controversy,  and  the  fever  fit  of  forced  and 
pretended  love.  In  the  meantime,  the  church  moans  in 
increasing  weakness  and  suffering,  and  sin  and  Satan 
rejoice  that  an  enemy  which  they  could  not  have  conquer- 
ed in  battle,  is  conquered  for  them  by  a  pestilential  and 
destructive  disease. 

What  remedy  now  can  there  possibly  be  for  these  evils, 
but  for  Christians  to  cease  to  attach  such  importance  to 
the  differences  of  form  which  separate  them?  Is  it  not 
plain  that  it  is  this  overrated  importance  which  each  deno- 
mination attaches  to  its  own  forms  of  organization,  or  to 
its  own-modes  of  performing  the  ceremonies  of  Christian- 
ity, that  constitutes  the  repellancy  between  the  branches,- — 
is  it  not  plain,  too,  that  it  is  this  refusal  to  acknowledge  one 
another,  and  not  simply  the  division,  which  makes  the 
trouble.'*  For  if  this  spirit  of  hostility  and  exclusion  were 
removed,  the  obstacle  to  coalescence  would  be  removed; 
and  though  the  present  great  denominations  might  remain, 
they  would  live  together  as  sister  branches,  and  individual 
Christians  would  consider  it  of  comparatively  little  impor- 
tance to  which  they  might  belong.  The  man  whose  mind 
is    so    constituted,  that  his  devotion    is  -aided  by  forms  of 


224  THE    WAY   TO   DO    GOOD.  [Ch    7. 


Prospect  of  a  change. 


prayer,  would  not  be  jealous  of  his  neighbor,  because  he 
preferred  an  extemporaneous  petition ;  and  a  devoted  ser- 
vant of  Jesus  Christ,  going  to  reside  among  an  ignorant 
and  vicious  population,  might  perhaps  hesitate  whether  a 
Methodist  or  a  Congregational  mode  of  government,  would 
afford  him  greatest  facilities  for  the  successful  prosecution 
of  his  Master's  work.  Thus  each  grand  division  of  the 
church  would  wish  well  to  the  others,  considering  them  all 
as  branches  of  the  true  church  of  Christ.  This  they  never 
can  do  now,  for  notwithstanding  all  attempts  at  union,  and 
all  pretended  love,  it  is  plain  that  one  branch  can  never 
really  wish  well  to  another,  while  they  consider  it  only  an 
irregular  association  of  good  men;  pious,  but  deceived; 
and  hanging  like  an  excrescence  and  a  burden,  about  the 
true  church  of  Christ. 

Thus  the  giving  up  the  essential  importance  of  any 
particular  modes  of  church  government  and  worship,  would 
produce  a  right  state  of  feeling  among  the  great  denomina- 
tions of  Christians.  The  members  of  each  would  undoubt- 
edly feel  a  special  interest,  as  they  ought  to  do,  in  the 
prosperity  of  their  own  branch  of  the  church,  but  the  bit- 
terness of  dissension  would  all  disappear.  The  simple  ad- 
mission of  the  other  xienominations  to  the  rank  of  sister 
branches  of  the  true  church,  would  change  the  whole 
aspect  of  their  relations  to  one  another.  Where  the 
population  was  large  and  dense,  the  taste  and  habits  of 
diflerent  classes  might  be  accommodated  by  arrangements 
suited  to  all;  and  where  it  was  scattered  and  thin,  the 
question  would  simply  be,  which  of  several  equally  regular 
branches  of  the  church  of  Christ,  shall  we  build  up  here; 
and  it  seems  as  if  it  would  be  impossible  to  keep  true 
Christians  from  coming  together,  on  such  a  question. 

I  am,  however,  far  from  being  so  sanguine,  as  to  suppose 
that  any  very  sudden  change  is  to  take  place  in  the  church, 
in  respect  to  her  internal  dissensions.  All  that  we  can 
now  hope  to  do,  is,  to  find  the  direction  in  which  the  path 


I       Ch.    7.]  THE    CHURCH    AND    CHRISTIAN    UNION.  2^S 

t       , 

f  Summing  up  the  case. 

to  future  peace  and  happiness  lies.     This  has  been  the 
object  of  this  chapter. 

To  sum  up  the  case,  then,  in  conclusion,  if  we  wish  to 
do  all  we  can  towards  giving  the  Christian  church  that 
efficiency  and  moral  power,  which  she  is  designed  to  exer- 
cise, we  must  heal  her  divisions;  and  the  first  step  towards 
this,  is  to  banish  ^rom  our  own  bosoms  those  suspicions 
and  jealousies  which  so  often  separate  the  several  branches 
of  the  great  family.  It  is  idle  to  hope  that  either  of  these 
branches  will  ever  conquer  and  swallow  up  the  rest.  A 
struggle  for  this  end,  only  thickens  the  walls,  and  strength- 
ens the  defences,  and  animates  the  hostility  which  sepa- 
rates the  contending  parties.  It  is  time  for  the  church  to 
take  a  different  ground,  to  take'  those  views  of  the  place 
and  province  of  modes  and  forms,  which  is, most  evidently, 
when  we  come  to  consider  the  subject,  every  where  taken 
of  them  by  the  Holy  Scriptures.  We  may  cling  to  our 
own  institutions  as  strongly  as  we~  please,  and  zealously 
endeavor  to  promote  their  prosperity.  But  when  we  reflect 
how  much  there  is  that  is  confessedly  human  in  the  struc- 
ture, let  us  cease  attempting  to  compel  all  others  to  give 
up  their  attachments  for  the  sake  of  embracing  ours. 

We  should  show  a  great  ignorance  of  human  nature, 
and  of  the  state  of  opinion  in  the  various  branches  of  the 
church,  if  we  did  not  expect  that  the  views  advanced  in 
this  chapter  would  meet  with  opposition.  The  best  of  men, 
and  the  most  devoted  of  Christians,  who  have  long  been 
accustomed  to  look  forward  to  a  consolidation  of  the 
church,  and  whose  imaginations  have  painted  in  very  glow- 
ing colors,  the  magnificence  and  beauty,  but  have  concealed 
the  fatal  dangers  of  such  a  result,  will  shrink  from  the 
doctrines  which  we  have  attempted  to  maintain.  Others 
will  have  lived  too  many  years  under  the  feeling  of  an 
exclusive  attachment  to  their  own  forms,  to  think  for  a 
moment  of  admitting  others  to  a  theoretical  equality,  and 


^^26  THE    WAY   TO   DO    GOOD.  [Ch.  7. 

Spiritual  integrity  of  the  church. 

they  will  consider  the  prevalence  of  these  views  as  fatal  to 
the  integrity  of  the  Church.  But  the  true  church  of  Christ 
is  a  spiritual  edifice, — its  integrity  is  a  spiritual  integ- 
rity; and  that  integrity,  these  views,  if  admitted,  will  es- 
tablish, not  destroy.  They  will  make  the  church  one,  as 
Christ  was  one  with  his  disciples,  that  is,  in  heart,  and 
feeling,  and  desires, — and  not  merely  in  the  frail  bonds  of 
official  connection.  We  are  convinced  that  the  preva- 
lence of  these  views  affords  the  only  hope  of  the  pacifica- 
tion of  the  Christian  Church;  and  it  is  this  conviction  of 
their  vital  importance  as  a  means  of  enabling  the  Church 
to  accomplish  the  full  work  of  doing  good,  which  God  has 
assigned  her,  that  has  compelled  us  to  introduce  the  dis- 
cussion here. 

We  believe  too,  that  the  Church  is  already  beginning 
extensively  to  receive  these  views,  and  the  effect  which 
we  expect  from  this  chapter,  upon  a  vast  majority  of  its 
readers,  is,  not  to  teach  any  thing  new,  but  to  reduce  to 
form,  and  to  establish  views  which  they  have  long  been 
insensibly  imbibing.  Let  us  extend  them,  and  the  pacifi- 
cation of  the  Church  is  accomplished  for  ever.  They  can 
be  extended  without  disturbing  the  plans  or  the  progress 
of  any  branch  of  the  church  of  Christ.  They  will  go  from 
heart  to  heart,  from  closet  to  closet,  and  from  prayer  meet 
ing  to  prayer  meeting,  and  it  will  not  be  long  before  their 
fruits  will  be  seen  in  the  establishment  of  a  friendly  inter- 
course between  all  the  branches  of  the  great  family  of  the 
Savior. — Then  shall  Episcopacy,  venerable  with  age,  and 
strong  in  the  moral  power  of  the  hallowed  associations  which 
cluster  around  her; — and  Congregationalism,  active  and 
vigorous  in  its  simplicity,  finding  its  ready  way  to  the  new 
and  ever  changing  scenes  of  human  life; — :and  Methodism, 
warm  with  emotion,  penetrating  into  the  mightiest  masses 
of  society,  and  changing  the  excitements  of  sin,  into  the 
warm,  happy  emotions  of  piety; — and  Presbyterianism,  with 
its  steady  and  efficient  government,  its  faithful  standards, 


Ch.  8. J  THE  SICK.  227 

Conclusion.  Plan  of  this  work. 


and  its  devoted  ministry; — these  and  all  other  branches  of 
the  great  army  of  God,  shall  all  move  forward,  side  by  side, 
against  the  one  great  enemy  of  their  common  Master. 
The  world  will  then  no  longer  point  to  our  contentions,  and 
quiet  themselves  in  sin,  but  they  will  see,  though  our 
forms  and  usages  may  differ,  that  still,  in  heart  and  pur- 
pose, WE   ARE  ONE. 


CHAPTER  VIII. 

THE    SICK. 
"Sick,  and  ye  visited  me.'* 

An  inspection  of  our  table  of  contents,  would  not  lead  the 
reader  to  suppose  that  any  very  logical  plan  was  pursued 
in  the  arrangement  of  the  topics  discussed  in  this  work. 
It  is,  in  fact,  to  be  considered  as  a  connected  train  of 
thought,  rather  than  a  systematic  arrangement  of  several 
independent  subjects  of  discussion.  Accordingly,  after 
two  or  three  preliminary  chapters,  we  took  up  the  first  and 
most  obvious  source  of  suffering  which  obtrudes  itself  upon 
our  notice,  in  this  valley  of  tears.  It  was  poverty;  and,  as 
in  the  consideration  of  it,  we  saw  that  it  admitted  of  no 
effectual  remedy  but  the  removal  of  its  moral  causes,  we 
were  led  at  once  to  the  discussion  of  the  great  moral 
remedy  for  all  moral  evils, — the  gospel  of  Jesus  Christ; 
and  the  modes  by  which  this  remedy  is  to  be  most  effect- 
ually applied.  Having  in  the  three  last  chapters  consider- 
ed this  subject  in  its  three  most  important  aspects,  we  now 
return  to  the  other  great  branch  of  physical  evil. 

Sickness;  the  twin  sister  and  companion  of  want,  and 
the  sharer  with  her  of  the  empire  of  human  suffering. 
Like  poverty,  she  is  the  daughter  of  sin,  but  is  farther 
separated  from  her  mother.     Sin  moves  on,  and  sickness 


$^  THE   WAY   TO   DO    GOOD.  [Ch.   8. 

Safe  to  do  good  to  the  sick. 

lingers  often  behind,  so  that  you  may  deal' with  her  sepa- 
rately. Want,  on  the  other  hand,  clings  closely  to  her 
parent;  they  make  common  cause,  and  stand  or  fall  to- 
gether. 

But  to  drop  the  metaphor, — although,  as  the  bible 
teaches  us,  all  sickness  and  pain  are  to  be  considered  as 
the  consequence  of  sin,  yet  they  sometimes  come  from  it 
so  indirectly,  and  are  separated  from  it  so  far  by  lapse  of 
time,  and  are  sometimes  in  so  slight  a  degree  connected 
with  personal  transgression,  that  we  may  apply  our  reme- 
dies directly  to  it,  with  comparativejy  little  danger.  In 
fact,  there  are  several  considerations,  making  our  duty  to 
the  sick  a  very  important  part  of  the  field  of  benevolent 
action. 

1.  We  can  very  easily  afford  a  great  deal  of  relief  and 
even  of  happiness  to  the  sick;  and  that  safely.  If  it  is 
only  temporary  relief  and  happiness,  it  is  an  object  worth 
securingj  provided  that  it  can  be  secured  without  danger. 
When  we  relieve  the  distresses  of  poverty  by  our  friendly 
interposition,  we  are  always  solicitous,  lest  we  may,  in  the 
end,  make  more  unhappiness  than  we  remove.  The  dis- 
tress may  be  feigned,  or  may  be  in  some  way  connected 
v.jth  deception,  and  our  aid,  in  such  a  case,  will  only 
encourage  and  embolden  fraud.  Or  a  man  may  have 
neglected  to  make  provision  for  coming  wants,  when  ho 
might  have  provided  for  them,  and  then,  when  he  begins 
to  feel  their  pressure,  we  may  cut  off  the  influence  of  a 
salutary  lesson  for  the  future,  by  the  relief  which  we  cannot 
find  it  in  our  hearts  to  deny.  It  sometimes  seems  almost 
cruel,  to  admit  such  suspicions,  but  it  is  only  the  extreme 
of  inexperience  or  of  folly,  that  can  be  blind  to  them. 

In  cases  of  sickness,  however,  they  do  not  apply.  All 
the  good  that  we  can  do  in  the  chamber  of  actual  disease 
or  suffering,  is,  with  exceptions  very  few  and  rare,  a  work, 
at  least,  of  safety. 

And  then,  besides  the  safety  of  it,  doing  good  in  a  sick 


Ch.  d.]  *Hli  s!CK.  Si29 

The  sick  laborer.  Good  easily  and  safely  done. 

room,  is  a  very  effectual  way  of  doing  good.  We  work 
there  to  great  advantage.  A  very  little  effort  gives  a  great 
deal  of  relief,  or  a  great  deal  of  pleasure.  Perhaps  it  is 
owing  to  the  feelings  of  helplessness  and  dependence, 
which  sickness  brings,  or  perhaps  to  the  effect  of  disease 
in  awakening  the  susceptibilities  of  the  mind,  and  rendering 
the  sufferer  more  sensitive  to  kindness,  as  we  know  he  is 
to  sounds,  and  light,  and  pain.  The  sternest  man  will  be 
soflened,  if  you  approach  him  with  relief,  or  even  with 
sympathy,  when  he  is  in  sickness  or  pain. 

Thus,  if  there  are  within  the  reach  of  your  walks,  a 
number  of  cases  of  sickness  among  the  poor,  and  unfortu- 
nate, and  neglected,  there  is  no  way  in  which  you  can 
spend  a  few  hours  each  week,  in  doing  more  immediate 
and  effectual  good,  than  in  seeking  out  the  cases,  and 
carrying  to  them  your  relief,  or  at  least,  your  sympathy. 
There  is,  for  examplcj  in  one  lowly  home,  a  poor  man  laid 
upon  his  hard,  uncomfortable  bed,  by  an  accidental  injury 
received  in  his  work, — and  the  want,  which  his  exertions 
only  keep  at  bay,  begins  to  take  advantage  of  his  helpless- 
ness, and  to  press  his  iron  grasp  upon  the  mother  and 
children-  Now  you  may  visit  him,— your  words  of  sympa- 
thy and  encouragement  may  save  them  all  from  despair. 
Your  aid  may  find  a  little  employment  for  the  wife,  or  for 
a  child,  or  a  little  medical  advice  for  the  patient,  so  as  to 
hasten  his  release;  and  thus  with  a  strict  economy  of  your 
means  of  doing  good,  you  may,  by  a  small  expenditure  of 
time,  and  money,  and  care,  give  at  once,  great  immediate 
relief,  and  save  a  whole  family  from  much  future  suffering. 
And  while  you  are  doing  it,  the  light  of  Christian  example 
and  character,  which  you  will  cause  to  shine  into  that  dark 
home,  may  allure  some  of  its  inmates,  in  the  end,  to  the 
banner  under  which  you  are  serving. 

Then  again,  here  is  another  case.  An  incurable  disease 
of  a  limb,  is  wasting  away  a  little  patient,  and  carrying  him 
slowly  and  surely  to  the  grave.  Without  pain,  and  with 
20 


230  THE    WAY    TO    DO    GOOD.  [Ch.  8. 

The  child.  Happiness.  Old  age. 

very  little  general  disease,  he  is  confined  by  the  apparatus 
of  the  surgeon  in  one  position,  which  there  is  only  the 
faintest  possible  hope  that  he  will  ever  leave,  till  he  is 
released  from  it  to  be  laid  in  the  last  position  of  mortality. 
Till  then,  however,  his  arms  and  eyes  are  at  liberty,  and 
his  soul  is  free;  and  contented,  cheerful  and  happy,  he 
welcomes  you  day  after  day  with  a  smile,  as  you  come  to 
admire  the  little  windmills,  and  boxes,  that  he  makes  with 
his  penknife  and  glue, — or  to  give  him  new  drawings  to 
copy, — or  a  new  book  to  read, — or  to  sit  at  his  bed-side, 
with  your  hand  upon  his  brow,  wishing  that  all  the  suffer- 
ing and  the  wretched  could  be  as  happy  as  he;— -or  to 
kneel  by  his  bed-side,  and  pray  simply  for  a  continuance 
of  the  goodness  and  mercy  with  which  God  surrounds  his 
little  prisoner.  His  narrow  room  seems  to  be  the  connect- 
ing anti  chamber  of  earth  and  heaven,  and  viewing  both 
worlds  from  it,  you  can  hardly  desire  that  God  should 
restore  its  inmate  to  the  one  he  has  left.  His  soul  seems 
to  float  in  the  presence  and  communion  of  the  Savior,  as 
the  swimmer  in  the  warm  summer  sea. 

Again,  there  is  age,  decrepit  old  age, — sitting  helplessly 
by  the  fireside,  in  his  ancient  chair.  His  generation  has 
gone  off  and  left  him,  and  he  is  alone.  He  feels  like  a 
stranger  among  the  beings  that  have  sprung  up  all  around 
him,  as  it  were  in  a  day,  and  his  thoughts  and  his  memory 
run  back  spontaneously  to  times,  and  men,  and  events  that 
now  are  gone;  and  which,  though  they  are  every  thing  to 
him,  are  nothing  now  to  any  body  beside.  It  is  painful  to 
bim  to  find  that  the  knowledge  and  recollections  to  which 
alone  his  mind  runs  back  with  interest  and  pleasure,  are  in- 
significant and  worthless  to  all  around  him.  Now  you  may 
look  in  upon  him  a  few  minutes,  as  he  sits  in  his  armed 
chair  in  a  winter  evening,  or  stop  to  talk  with  him  a  mo- 
ment under  the  trees,  before  his  door,  at  sunset,  in  June; 
and  by  your  tone  of  kindness  and  interest,  and  the  air  of 
respectful  consideration  always  due  to  age,  you  revive  the 


Ch.   8.J  THE    SICK.  231 

Consumption  and  her  victims. 

heart  of  the  aged  pilgrim  to  sensations  of  happiness,  which 
beam  over  his  soul  brightly,  while  you  are  with  him,  and 
linger  there  long  after  you  are  gone.  The  enjoyment  is 
but  little,  I  admit, — but  then  the  expense  is  but  very  little, 
by  which  it  is  secured. 

Then,  besides  all  these  sources  of  sickness  and  sulfFer- 
ing,  there  is  often  near  us,  and  sometimes  at  our  very  fire- 
sides, a  visiter,  whom  we  scarcely  know  whether  to  call  an 
enemy  or  a  friend.  New  England,  if  not  her  native  land, 
is  at  least  her  loved  and  chosen  home.  She  thrives  in  the 
refreshing  coolness  of  our  northern  clime.  The  air  of  the 
sea  breeze,  of  the  cool  autumnal  evening,  and  of  the  win- 
try storm,  constitute  her  very  vital  breath.  Her  form  is 
slender  and  delicate, — a  little  too  delicate  and  feeble  for 
gracefulness;  and  her  cheek,  though  it  blooms,  does  not 
bloom  exactly  with  beauty:  but  then  her  eye  is  bright,  and 
her  forehead  is  of  marble.     Her  name  is  Consumption. 

She  loves  New  England,  and  lingers  unobserved  among 
us  in  a  thousand  scenes.  She  is  always  busy  here,  select- 
ing her  victims  among  the  sensitive  and  the  fair,  and  coair 
mencing  secretly  that  mysterious  process  of  entanglement, 
by  which  they  are  to  become,  at  last,  her  hopeless  prey 
She  loves  the  slow  moon-light  walk,  the  winter  sleigh-ride, 
and  the  return  in  the  chilly  coach  at  midnight,  from  the 
crowded  city  assembly.  She  helps  make  up  the  party  in 
the  summer  evening  sail, — uninvited,  unwelcome,  and  un- 
observed,— but  still  there,  taking  her  choice  from  all  the 
lovely  forms  before  her.  She  knows  too  well  how  to  choose. 
She  can  appreciate  intelligence,  beauty,  sensibility,  an^ 
even  moral  worth,  and  in  the  collected  assembly  of  her 
victims,  you  would  find  some  of  the  brightest  and  loveliest 
specimens  of  humanity. 

Now,  perhaps,  you  may  find  some  one  of  these  victims 
in  the  circle  of  your  walks,  and  you  may  easily  do  a  great 
deal  to  relieve  weariness,  and  restlessness,  and  pain,  during 
the  long  months  of  decline,  and  to  soothe  the  sufferings  of 
the  last  hours. 


232  THE    WAY   TO    DO    GOOD.  [Ch.    &. 


The  family  and  friends  of  the  sick. 


The  good,  which  the  Christian  visiter  may  do  in  the  sick 
chamber,  is  not  confined  to  the  suffering  patient.  The 
family  and  friends  are  comforted,  and  sustained,  and 
strengthened  by  the  influence  of  your  presence.  No  one 
who  has  not  experienced  it,  can  tell  bow  valuable  is  the 
spontaneous  and  heartfelt  sympathy  of  a  friend,  to  a  family 
suffering,  in  one  of  its  members,  the  invasion  of  alarming 
or  fatal  disease.  The  heart  of  the  wife  sinking  within 
her,  in  anxiety  and  terror  at  her  husband's  sufferings  or 
delirium,  is  refreshed  and  strengthened  as  by  a  cordial, 
when  a  kind  neighbor  comes  in  to  share  her  watch  and  her 
anxious  care.  And  so  the  hearts  of  the  parents,  distressed 
and  filled  with  anguish,  at  witnessing  the  last  struggles  of 
an  infant  child,  are  cheered,  and  sustained,  and  comforted, 
by  the  presence  and  the  silent  sympathy  of  the  friend,  who 
watches  with  them  till  midnight  brings  the  last  breath,  and 
the  last  pulsation,  and  gives  the  little  sufferer  repose. 
There  is,  in  fact,  no  end  to  the  variety  of  modes  by  which 
kindness  to  the  sick  is  effectual  in  relieving  pain  and  pro- 
moting happiness.  Sickness  seems  to  soften  the  heart  and 
awaken  all  its  susceptibilities  of  gratitude  and  happiness. 
Kindness  and  sympathy  are  never  so  longed  for,  and  so 
welcome  as  here,  and  never  touch  the  heart  more  effectu- 
ally, or  awaken  stronger  feelings  of  gratitude  and  affection.  - 
It  may  be  all  merely  temporary  pleasure,  which  is  thus 
communicated;  but  it  is  real  and  great,  if  it  is  temporary, 
and  it  can  be  all  accomplished  with  little  effort  and  little 
danger. 

2.  By  kind  attention  to  the  sick,  we  may  gain  an  influ- 
ence in  favor  of  piety,  over  the  sick  themselves,  and  over 
the  families  to  which  they  belong.  Piety  is,  in  respect  to 
mankind,  love;  and  in  no  way,  perhaps,  can  its  true  char- 
acter be  more  fairly  shown,  than  in  the  sick  room.  The 
colors,  too,  in  which  it  appears  there,  are  all  alluring.  In 
ordinary  intercourse  with  mankind,  the  pressure  of  busi- 
ness, or  the  forms  and  usages  of  social  life,  repress,  in  c^ 


I  Ch.  8.]  THE  SICK.  233 

Cases.  A  family  changed. 

great  degree,  those  moral  manifestations  which  shine  out 
spontaneously  in  the  sick  room,  and  exhibit  the  character 
of  submission  to  God,  and  kind  interest  in  man,  which  the 
Savior  commands  us  to  let  shine  as  a  light  in  this  dark 
world  of  sin. 

Thus,  in  many,  many  instances,  a  cold,  heartless,  unbe- 
lieving, and  perhaps  vicious  father,  has  been  led  to  see  the 
reality  of  religion,  by  his  intercourse  with  the  Christian 
friend,  who  has  come  to  visit  his  sick  child.  In  fact,  sick- 
ness seems  often  sent,  as  it  were,  to  open  a  door  of  admis- 
sion to  an  ungodly  family,  by  which  the  gospel  may  enter 
in.  The  family  are  first  grateful  for  the  kindness, — then 
they  see  the  moral  beauty  of  the  character  which  exhibits 
it.  The  religious  conversation  which  is  offered  in  a  kind, 
conciliating,  and  unassuming  tone,  in  the  sick  chamber,  or 
around  the  fireside  of  an  adjoining  room,  is  listened  to  with 
a  respectful  attention,  though,  perhaps,  under  no  other  cir- 
cumstances could  it  have  found  an  access  to  those  ears. 
These  first  steps  may  not  be  very  important  ones,  but  it  is 
something  to  bring  the  soul,  which  is  utterly  hostile  to  God, 
to  a  parley.  The  reading  of  proper  religious  books, — an 
occasional,  and  at  length  a  regular  attendance  at  the  house 
of  God,  are  perhaps  the  succeeding  steps;  and  when  a 
family  is  brought  thus  far,  by  the  gentle  and  unassuming 
moral  influence  which  may,  without  great  difficulty,  be  ex- 
erted over  them,  it  is  safe  to  expect  that  the  change  will  go 
farther.  It  is  into  such  a  family  that  the  Holy  Spirit  loves 
to  enter  and  complete  the  work  which,  without  his  aid, 
could  not  even  have  been  begun.  Reader, — is  there  not 
within  your  reach  a  family  of  unhappy  wanderers  from 
God,  into  which  sickness  has  gone  and  opened  a  door  of 
easy  and  pleasant  access  to  you?  Inquire  and  ascertain; 
and  if  there  is,  find  your  way  there  without  delay,  and  by 
kind,  unceasing  and  delicate  attentions,  fasten  a  silken  cord 
of  gratitude  and  affection  to  their  hearts,  by  which  you  may 
draw  the  inmates  to  the  Savior  and  to  happiness. 
20* 


234  tHE  WAY  f d  Dd  feooir.  [Cfli.  8. 


A  danger  pointed  out. 


Or,  if  the  family,  to  which  you  show  Christian  kindness 
m  sickness,  is  cuhivated  and  refined,  though  worldly,  the 
light  of  Christian  character  is  brought  to  their  minds  more 
distinctly  than  before,  and  it  comes  in  a  more  alluring  form. 
They  are  your  neighbors  or  acquaintances,  but  as  you 
have  been  mutually  conscious  of  the  great  difference  be- 
tween you  and  them,  in  respect  to  your  religious  feelings 
and  hopes,  each  party  has  imagined  feelings  of  coldness 
and  reserve  to  exist  in  the  other;  nothing  is  more  common 
than  this  state  of  feeling,  between  religious  and  irreligious 
acquaintances  or  friends.  Now  the  sickness,  which  gives^ 
you  the  opportunity  of  showing  kindness,  breaks  down  the 
barrier,  and  changes  the  look  and  tone  of  cold  reserve, 
which  each  party  imagined  that  he  was  adopting  in  self- 
defence,  to  the  open,  and  cordial,  and  honest  expressions 
of  good  will. 

It  is,  however,  somewhat  dangerdtis  to  point  out  these 
indirect  results  which  come  from  kindness  to  the  sick,  lest 
they  should  lead  our  deceiving  and  deceitful  hearts  to  an 
affectation  of  benevolence,  or  of  solemnity,  for  the  purpose 
of  securing  them.  But  there  is  no  disguise  so  slim,  at 
least,  there  is  none  more  easily  seen  through,  by  the  intelli- 
gent observer,  than  affectation  of  piety; — tlie  solemn  look, 
assumed  to  suit  the  supposed  proprieties  of  an  occasion, — 
the  aff*ected  tone,  a  clumsy  counterfeit  of  the  inflections  of 
real  feeling, -^the  forced  conversation,  constrained,  unnat- 
ural, indirect, — and  the  prayer,  in  which  the  speaker  pre- 
tends to  be  addressing  the  Supreme,  when  you  perceive, 
at  once,  from  the  rhetorical  structure  of  his  sentences, 
and  the  clumsy  insinuations  and  allusions,  that  the  bystan- 
ders only  are  in  his  mind.  If  this  is  the  kind  of  Christian 
light,  which  these  paragraphs  tend  to  kindle  in  the  sick 
rooms,  which  the  readers  may  visit,  they  had  better  never 
have  been  written.  No,  let  us  be  honest,  open,  direct  in 
all  we  say  or  do.  If  we  feel  no  emotion,  let  us  never  feign 
any;  never.     Let  us  see  Ihat  our  hearts  are  right  towards 


Ch.  8.]  THE   SICK. 


Spiritual  good  of  the  patient. 


God  and  man,  and  then  let  our  words  and  looks  freely  fol- 
low the  impulses  they  receive  from  within.  It  is  only  hon- 
est, frank,  open-hearted,  unaffected  piety  which  can  gain 
any  great  or  permanent  ascendency,  in  such  a  world  as  ours. 

3.  By  kindness  to  the  sick,  we  have  some  hope  of  pro- 
moting the  spiritual  good  of  the  patient,— though  we  con- 
fess that  this  hope  must  be  faint  and  feeble.  The  good 
that  is  done  is  mainly  that  specified  under  the  preceding 
heads;  either  the  present  relief  and  comfort,  amounting 
sometimes  to  positive  enjoyment,  which  results  directly 
from  the  effort,  or  the  influence  in  favor  of  the  cause  of 
piety,  resulting  from  the  exhibition  of  its  true  character,  in 
its  own  appropriate  sphere.  These  are  often  overlooked, 
and  the  chief  hopes  of  the  christian  visiter  are  directed  to 
the  spiritual  benefit  of  the  patient  himself,  which  we  have 
melancholy  evidence  is  very  seldom  in  any  great  degree 
attained.  This  evidence,  however,  though  it  is  melan- 
choly, we  ought  to  see.  It  is  best  for  us  to  understand 
what  hopes  there  are  of  preparation  for  death  on  a  sick 
bed,  both  for  our  own  guidance  in  respect  to  others,  and 
also  that  we  may  know  what  to  calculate  upon,  ourselves, 
in  respect  to  our  own  last  hours. 

"  But  why,"  the  reader  will  ask,  who  is  accustomed  to 
think  that  sickness  brings  with  it  peculiar  opportunities  for 
repentance,  "why  is  it  that  we  may  not  hope  to  promote 
the  spiritual  good  of  the  sick?  They  are  then  withdrawn 
from  the  world.  The  power  of  its  temptations  is  destroy- 
ed,— etiernity,  if  not  actually  near,  is  at  least  seen  more 
distinctly,  and  more  fully  realized.  There  are  many  long 
hours  favorable  to  reflection,  and  every  thing  seems  to  in- 
vite to  repentance  for  sin,  and  reconciliation  with  God." 

This  is  all  true,  and  if  nothing  but  an  invitation  to  the 
favor  of  God,  and  urgent,  alarming  necessity  for  reconcili- 
ation with  him  were  wanting,  every  sick  man  conscious  of 
sickness,  would  be  sure  to  be  saved.  But  unhappily  it  is 
not  all.     There  is  a  heart  to  be  changed.     A  heart  which 


236  THE   WAY  TO  DO  GOOD.  [Ch.   8. 

Dangers.  Various  classes. 

shrinks  from  God,  dislikes  communion  with  him,  and  loves 
sin,  is  to  be  so  entirely  altered  in  its  very  fundamental  de- 
sires, as  to  seek  God  eagerly  and  spontaneously,  as  its 
refuge,  its  home,  its  happiness, — to  delight  in  his  presence 
and  communion,  and  to  hate  and  shrink  from  sin.  Now 
the  natural  effect  of  sickness  is  simply  to  awaken  uneasi- 
ness or  anxiety,  and  we  can  see  no  special  tendency  in 
uneasiness  or  anxiety  to  produce  such  a  change,  in  the  very 
desires  and  affections  of  the  soul,  as  this. 

But  let  us  look  at  the  facts  a  little  more  in  detail.  There 
are  several  distinct  conditions  in  which  the  dangerously 
sick  may  be  found,  and  most  of  them  are  such  as  to  pre- 
clude the  possibility  of  deriving  any  spiritual  benefit,  from 
the  supposed  facilities  afforded  by  the  situation.  We  will 
consider  some  of  these. 

(1.)  A  large  class  never  know  their  danger,  or  at  least 
have  no  time  to  think  of  it,  uijtil  they  are  too  far  gone  to 
be  sensible  of  it.  Thus  for  all  purposes  of  reflection,  they 
know  nothing  of  their  sickness,  till  they  are  convalescent, 
or  until  they  awake  in  eternity.  For  example,  a  man  in 
the  midst  of  his  business,  is  suddenly  attacked  by  severe 
acute  disease.  The  shooting  pains,  the  chills,  the  fever 
alarm  him,  and  anticipating  a  fit  of  sickness,  he  is  busy  to 
the  last  moment  in  making  arrangements  and  giving  direc- 
tions, and  when  he  can  do  no  more,  there  follows  the  bustle 
of  preparation  in  his  room, — the  visit  of  the  physician,  the 
bath,  or  the  friction,  or  the  venesection.  An  hour  or  two 
spent  thus  is  succeeded  by  a  disturbed  slumber,  from  which 
he  awakes  in  delirium.  Perhaps  a  fortnight  after,  God 
raises  for  a  single  hour,  the  mysterious  pressure,  under 
which  the  soul  had  been  imprisoned,  and  the  unhappy  man 
has  barely  time  to  see  the  grave  open  at  his  feet,  before 
clouds  and  darkness  shut  in  again  over  his  soul,  and  he 
sinks  for  ever. 

Precisely  this  would  be,  indeed,  a  case  of  uncommonly 
sudden  and  severe  disease,  but  many  such  occur,  and  very 


Ch.  8.]  THE  SICK.  237 


Deceptions  of  friends. 


many  occur  which  are  precisely  like  it  in  the  essential 
point,  that  is,  that  the  patient  never  knows  his  danger,  nor 
reflects  seriously  upon  his  sickness,  till  it  is  too  late  for  him 
to  understand  it  at  all.  These  cases  are  rendered  more 
numerous  by  the  almost  universal  tendency,  on  the  part  of 
family  and  friends,  to  present  to  the  patient  the  brightest 
side  of  his  case.  This  arises  not  always  from  a  deliberate 
intention  to  deceive, — in  fact,  the  parent,  or  the  friend, 
standing  by  the  bedside,  cherishes  himself  the  hope  which 
he  wishes  to  present  to  the  patient ;  and  he  unconsciously 
overrates  the  grounds  of  it,  in  his  desire  to  give  the  sick 
one  the  advantage  of  its  exhilarating  and  sustaining  power. 
At  other  times,  the  truth,  too  plain  to  the  physician  and 
the  friends,  is  suppressed,  and  concealed  from  the  deceived 
sufferer;  and  the  grave  grasps  him,  while  the  words  are 
actually  on  the  lips  of  his  attendants,  that  assure  him  that 
he  shall  soon  be  well.  Oh,  how  often  have  parents  thus 
deceived  their  dying  children.  How  can  they  do  it  .'*  How 
can  they  bear  to  allow  one,  who  looks  up  to  them  with  en- 
tire confidence  and  affection,  to  go  from  them  suddenly  into 
eternity,  and  have  there  to  reflect,  that  the  last  words  he 
heard  his  father  and  his  mother  speak  to  him,  were  false 
hood  and  deception  .-' 

Still,  nothing  is  more  common,  and  from  these  and  other 
similar  cases,  it  comes  that  a  very  large  number  of  human 
beings  finish  their  pilgrimage  without  a  warning.  Of 
course,  the  sick-bed  affords  no  facilities  for  a  preparation 
for  death,  to  them. 

(2.)  Then  there  is  another  large  class,  whose  disease  or 
state  of  mind  is  such,  that  they  cannot  safely  be  addressed 
on  the  subject.  That  is,  the  probability  that  any  good  will 
be  done,  by  religious  conversation  with  them,  is  smaller, 
than  that  if  left  to  mental  quiet,  they  may  recover,  and  be 
brought  to  repentance  by  future  opportunities  for  enjoying 
the  means  of  grace.  There  are  many  cases  where  the 
most   faithful   christian   physician   would   require   perfect 


238  THE    WAY    TO    DO    GOOD.  [Ch.  8 

Indifference, aud  stupor. 

quiet  and  repose;  and  we  are  not  obstinately  to  insist  on 
pressing  the  guilt  and  danger  of  the  sinner  upon  his  atten- 
tion, where  the  probable  result  would  be  only  to  aggravate 
disease,  and  hasten  death,  and  thus  secure,  at  once,  the 
ruin,  from  which  we  were  endeavoring  to  save  him.  The 
cases,  however,  where  a  kind  and  judicious  religious  influ- 
ence, over  one  in  dangerous  disease,  would  really  be  un- 
safe, are  not  very  common:  but  those  where  the  patient  or 
the  friends  think  it  would  be  unsafe,  so  as  to  feel  obliged 
to  preclude  it,  are  numberless.  They  form  a  second  large 
class,  which  cannot  be  expected  to  be  much  benefited  by 
the  opportunities  which  sickness  affords  them. 

(3.)  Then  there  are  a  great  number,  who  sink,  in  sick- 
ness, into  a  state  of  indifference  and  stupor,  from  which 
nothing  can  arouse  them.  Whether  this  is  one  of  the  in- 
numerable forms  of  the  infatuation  of  sin,  or  some  peculiar 
mental  torpidity,  resulting  from  disease,  the  effect  is  certain, 
and  the  instances  innumerable.  Sometimes  the  patient 
shrinks  from,  and  shuns  the  conversation  that  would  awaken 
him, — and  sometimes  he  welcomes  it,  and  listens  to  it,  as 
if  he  wished  that  it  might  produce  its  proper  effect, — and 
then  he  complains  with  stupid  despair,  that  he  can  see  his 
guilt  and  danger,  but  cannot  feel  them. 

Hardness  of  heart  does  not  arise  from  such  causes  as 
that  approaching  death  will  certainly  remove  it.  It  is  a 
moral  insensibility  which  has  its  existence  within  itself,  and 
is  slightly  affected  by  mere  external  causes.  If  the  habits 
of  life  have  formed  and  fixed  it,  it  will  sometimes  maintain 
its  hold,  even  to  the  last  hour. 

(4.)  Then,  besides,  of  those  who  are  led  to  feel  some 
alarm,  a  very  large  proportion  never  go  farther  thanalarm. 
They  are  agitated,  and  anxious,  and  unhappy ;  but  agita- 
tion is  not  piety, — and  anxiety  about  death,  is  not  prepara- 
tion-for  it.  In  fact,  the  feehng  of  restless  suffering  is, 
probably,  in  many  cases,  only  a  manifestation  of  actual 
hostility  to  God.     The  soul  finds  itself  brought  up,  as  it 


Ch.  8i]  THE  SICK.  239 

The  deceived.  Nervous  influences  of  sickness. 

were,  to  meet  its  Maker.  It  sees  that  it  is  approaching  the 
close  of  its  connection  with  the  world,  and  that  the  course 
of  time  is  drawing  it  directly  on  towards  God.  It  looks  this 
way  and  that  way  for  escape,  but  finds  none ;  and  its  rest- 
less, anxious  uneasiness,  is  only  its  shrinking,  with  instinc-* 
tive  dislike,  from  the  great  Being  to  whom  it  ought  to  fly 
eagerly,  as  to  its  refuge  and  home.  If  this  is  its  condi- 
tion then,  the  more  restless  alarms,  the  more  hostility;  and 
it  goes  at  last  into  the  presence  of  its  Maker,  like  the  terri- 
fied child  into  the  arms  of  the  stranger  whom  it  dislikes 
and  dreads. 

These  four  classes  constitute,  undoubtedly,  a  very  large 
portion  of  the  sick, — but  we  must  thin  the  number  that  is 
left,  a  little  more;  for 

(5.)  There  are  the  deceived.     One  would  think,  that  on 
a  sick  and  dying-bed,  the  heart  would  abandon  its  subter 
fuges  and  deception,  and  be  honest  with  itself  at  last,  be- 
fore it  goes  into  eternity.     Instead  of  this,  self  deception 
maintains  its  hold  here,  as  in  its  last  intrenchment. 

In  fact,  a  little  reflection  would  convince  us  at  once,  that 
the  circumstances  of  a  sick-bed  are  such  as  to  create  very 
great  danger  of  self  deception.  That  loss  of  interest  in  the 
world,  which  is  the  result  of  confinement,  weakness  and 
pain, — how  easily  may  it  be  mistaken  for  a  heartfelt  and 
voluntary  renunciation  of  it.  Death,  too,  may  seem  near, 
— bringing  with  it  all  its  terrors,  and  under  their  threat- 
ening aspect  the  spirit  sinks.  Now  how  easy  it  is  for  the 
soul  to  welcome  the  idea  of  reconciliation  with  God,  sim- 
ply as  a  relief  from  anxiety  and  suffering,  and  then  to 
imagine  that  to  be  the  chosen  object  of  its  love,  to  which 
in  fact  it  only  flies  as  a  refuge  from  fear.  Then  again, 
sickness,  though  it  sometimes  inflames  and  irritates  the 
spirit,  perhaps  oftener  softens  and  soothes  it,  by  some 
mysterious  physical  influences  upon  the  nervous  system. 
The  selfish,  turbulent  and  ungovernable  child  often  lies 
subdued  and  quieted  under   its   hand,    and   gladdens   his 


C40  THE    WAY   TO    CO    GOOD.  [Ch.  8. 

The   attendant  of  piety ;  its  counterfeit. 

mother's  heart  by  his  unlocked  for  manifestations  of  sub- 
mission and  gratitude; — the  nurse  welcomes  returning 
irritability  as  a  sign  of  returning  health.  This  morbid 
loveliness  of  spirit,  like  the  unnatural  brightness  of  the  eye, 
or  hectic  bloom  upon  the  cheek,  is  often  the  companion  of 
disease,  and  not  unfrequently  the  immediate  precursor  of 
death.  It  calms  all  the  passions  of  the  soul,  it  lulls  the  sen- 
sorium  into  rest,  and  disarms  temptation  of  its  power,  by 
taking  away  the  very  fuel  it  feeds  upon.  It  gives  the  kind- 
est and  gentlest  intonations  to  the  voice,  and  spreads  over 
the  countenance  an  expression  of  benevolence  and  sub- 
mission. It  often  mingles  with  piety,  and  clothes  it  in  its 
last  hours,  with  a  most  fascinating  loveliness; — but  alas,  it 
also  often  takes  its  place, — its  most  successful  and  yet  most 
superficial  counterfeit.  It  deceives  death, — meeting  him 
with  a  smile;  but  convalescence  is  its  certain  detection  and 
exposure.  For  when  health  is  returning,  its  colors  soon 
fade,  and  its  moral  loveliness  turns  to  irritability,  fretful- 
ness,  and  selfish,  suspicious  jealousy.  How  far  the  move- 
ments of  a  soul,  thus  so  directly  modified,  either  favorably, 
or  unfavorably,  by  the  nervous  influences  of  disease,  are  to 
be  considered  as  affected  in  respect  to  moral  character  and 
accountability,  is  a  question  too  deep  for  us  to  enter  into 
here.  One  thing,  however,  is  certain,  that  if  we  make 
allowances  on  this  account,  as  by  common  consent  we  do, 
for  what  is  wrong,  we  must  also  make  some  deductions  of 
credit  for  what  is  right. 

But  we  ought  to  repeat  that  the  state  of  mind  and  heart 
which  we  have  been  describing,  though  sometimes  the 
counterfeit  of  piety,  is  often  its  attendant,  so  that  the 
graces  of  character,  which  are  exhibited  in  the  sick-cham- 
ber, where  there  is  evidence  of  a  stable  foundation  on 
which  they  rest,  are  not  to  be  considered  as  unsubstantial 
and  transitory.  Every  visiter  among  the  sick,  will  call  to 
mind,  cases  where  the  solid  characteristics  of  real  piety 
sho«e  with  a  heavenly  beauty  and  splendor,  imparted  to 
them  by  these  mysterious  influences  of  lingering  disep* 


>» 


Ch.  8.]  THE   SICK.  241 


Little  Nathan  Dickerman. 


While  saying  this,  there  rises  to  my  mind  the  recollectioii 
of  one  sick-room  which  exhibited,  before  all  others  that  I 
have  seen,  the  most  striking  example  of  it.  It  was  that  of 
the  child  Nathan  Dickerman,*  whose  chamber  during  the 
last  months  of  his  life,  beamed  with  an  expression  of 
loveliness  and  peace,  which  no  pen  can  describe. 

Those  grim  tyrants,  disease  and  death,  seemed  in  his 
case,  to  relax  from  their  sternness  and  cruelty,  that  they 
might  vary  their  work  of  oppression,  as  other  tyrants  have 
done,  by  showing  for  once  what  they  do,  in  lavishing  kind- 
ness and  decorations  upon  a  favorite.  'Tis  true,  that  they 
insisted  that  he  should  be  theirs,  and  so  they  maintained 
with  inflexible  determination,  their  own  destructive  hold 
upon  the  organs  of  life ;  though  he  was  their  favorite,  he 
must  wear  their  chain.  For  the  rest,  all  was  kindness 
They  brightened  his  intellect,  they  expanded,  almost  be- 
yond maturity,  his  embryo  powers,  they  smoothed  the 
features  of  his  countenance  into  an  almost  heavenly  ex 
pression,  and  breathed  into  his  soul  an  atmosphere  of  in- 
describable sweetness  and  peace,  and  enjoyment.  These 
stern  and  uncc  promising,  and  usually  pitiless  masters, 
appeared  disposed,  in  his  case,  to  lay  aside  their  terrors. 
For  once  they  seemed  to  love  their  victim; — they  smiled 
upon  him  where  he  lay. 

The  enchantmg  expression,  however,  which  beamed 
from  the  whole  scene  which  his  little  room  exhibited,  was 
indebted  for  its  chief  lineq.ments  to  a  most  sincere  and 
unaffected  piety.  There  was  abundant  evidence  of  it,  of 
the  most  solid  kind.  But  piety,  in  such  a  case  as  this, 
substantial  and  sure,  is  softened  and  beautified  by  the 
mellowing  influence  of  disease.  It  is  the  corporeal  and  the 
animal  only,  which  fails  under  its  hand;  all  that  is  pure, 
and  lovely,  and  beautiful  in  the  spirit,  in  the  intellect,  in 
the  soul,  rises  the  more  free  and  the  more  resplendent  for 
teing  released  from  its  ordinary  burdens. 

*  Memoir  of  Nathan  W.  Dickerman. 

21 


242  THE    WAY  TO    DO    GOOD.  [Ch.   8. 

Practical  rules.  Imposture. 

But  to  return;  this  mysterious  effect  produced  by  disease, 
in  subduing  and  softening  all  the  asperities  of  the  character, 
which  sometimes  accompanies  piety,  perhaps  oftener  merely 
assumes  the  guise  of  it.  It  helps  to  make  up  the  immexise 
variety  of  modes  by  which  the  soul  deceive^  ana  is  itself 
deceived. 

When,  now,  we  come  to  consider  all  these  numerous 
cases  in  which  no  spiritual  benefit  is  derived  from  the 
opportunities  afforded  by  a  sick-bed, — those  who  are  cut 
off  too  suddenly  to  know  their  situation,  those  who  are 
rendered  inaccessible  by  the  nature  and  violence  of  their 
disease,  those  who  are  indifferent  and  stupid,  those  who 
are  only  alarmed,  and  those  who  are  deceived, — we  shall 
have  but  few  remaining  who  can  be  considered  as  making 
any  effectual  preparation  for  death,  when  sickness  comes 
with  its  warnings.  The  good  therefore,  which  we  are  to 
expect  to  effect  by  our  visits  to  the  sick  and  the  suffering, 
is  chiefly  in  other  ways  than  in  the  preparation  of  the  in- 
dividual sufferer  for  his  approaching  account.  There  is 
however,  some  hope,  even  of  this.  It  is  one  of  the  objects 
at  which  we  have  to  aim. 

Having  thus  brought  to  the  view  of  the  reader  the  na- 
ture of  the  good  which  he  must  expect  to  do,  we  proceed  in 
the  remainder  of  this  chapter,  to  enumerate  some  of  the 
more  plain  and  important  directions  necessary  to  enable 
him  most  successfully  to  do  it. 

1.  In  your  arrangements  for  visiting  and  relieving  cases 
of  sickness  among  the  poor,  be  always  on  your  guard 
against  imposture.  Go  forward  freely  and  openly  to  the 
relief  of  suffering,  wherever  you  find  it,  but  be  constantly 
awake  to  the  probability  that  you  may  in  any  case  be  de- 
ceived. Nothing  surpasses  the  readiness  with  which  the 
vicious  poor  resort  to  a  feigning  of  sickness  and  suffering 
in  order  to  procure  undeserved  charity,  unless  it  be  the 
adroitness  with  which  they  carry  their  wicked  schemes  into 
effect.      Sometimes  the  disease  is  entirely  a  fabrication, 


Ch.  8.]  THE  SICK.  243 

Necessity  of  caution.  Quietness  and  delicacy. 

and  sometimes,  a  little  reality  is  made  the  basis  of  long  con- 
tinued indications  of  suffering.  In  fact,  we  often,  by  our 
own  indiscreet  and  profuse  benefactions  to  a  sick  family, 
actually  produce  such  a  state  of  things  that  recovery  would 
be  a  calamity.  We  place  them  under  a  strong  temptation 
to  dissemble,  and  the  lesson  once  learned,  is  not  soon  for- 
gotten. 

These  remarks  may  seem  rather  severe  and  even  cruel. 
They  are  severe,  I  admit,  and  I  assure  my  readers  that  I 
exceedingly  regret  the  necessity  of  making  them.  It  is 
far  easier  for  us,  and  pleasanter  at  first,  to  give  the  reins  to 
sentiment,  and  follow  on,  wherever  she  leads  the  way.  But 
cool,  calculating,  intelligent  principle  is  a  better  leader  in 
the  end.  We  need  warm  feeling  as  a  companion  in  the 
voyage,  but  the  understanding  does  better  at  the  helm 
What  I  have  stated  above,  and  similar  views  exhibited  in 
the  chapter  on  the  Poor,  are  unquestionably  the  truth,  and 
whoever  is  not  willing  to  know  the  truth,  even  where  it  is 
unpleasant,  will  never  be  very  efficient  or  persevering  in 
doing  good.  His  benevolence  rests  on  delusion, — a  very 
unsubstantial  basis.  However,  we  ought  not  to  be  always 
suspicious, — and  above  all,  we  ought  never,  without  good 
cause,  to  indicate  suspicions.  We  want  the  art, — and  it  is 
one  of  the  last,  and  most  difficult  of  the  intellectual  arts  to 
be  acquired, — of  suspending  judgment.  We  must  be  able 
to  look  at  a  case  of  alleged  sickness  and  suffisring,  and  to 
take  effectual,  though  cautious  measures  for  its  relief, 
while  all  the  time  we  keep  it  a  question  whether  it  is  real 
or  not.  We  do  not  suppose  it  to  be  pretended, — nor  do  we 
believe  it  to  be  real.  We  have  no  evidence  on  one  side  or 
the  other,  and  we  act  very  cautiously  and  prudently, 
though  kindly,  until  we  have  valid  ground  for  a  decision. 

2.  Be  still  and  delicate  and  gentle  in  all  your  intercourse 
with  the  sick.  In  fact,  the  same  principle  in  this  respect 
applies  to  moral  and  physical  treatment.  That  attendant 
will  do  most  towards  promoting  recovery,  who  can  cari^y 


244  THE    WAY    TO    DO    GOOD.  [Ch.    8. 

The  skilful  attendant.  Stillness  and  gentleness. 

the  required  measures  into  the  most  regular  and  complete 
effect,  and  yet  in  the  easiest  and  gentlest  manner, — the 
one  who  can  open  and  shut  the  door  most  quietly,  and 
manage  so  as  to  have  occasion  most  seldom  to  do  it  at  all ; 
the  one  who  can  replenish  the  fire  so  as  least  to  attract  the 
patient's  attention,  and  give  the  fewest  directions  in  his 
hearing,  and  have  the  medicine  or  the  drink  at  his  lips  at 
the  proper  time,  with  the  least  bustle  of  preparation;  the 
one  who  walks  softly,  whose  tones  are  gentle,  whose  touch 
is  delicate,  and  whose  countenance  exhibits  an  expression 
of  cheerful  repose.  Such  an  one  is  most  successful  in 
soothing  and  quieting  the  sensitive  susceptibilities  of  acute 
disease,  and  facilitating  the  sanative  influences  which  medi- 
cal skill,  conjoined  with  the  spontaneous  efforts  of  nature, 
have  diffused  through  the  frame. 

Now  it  is  not  the  sensorium  merely  that  must  be  defend- 
ed against  the  rude  and  rough  approaches  which  it  could 
safely  sustain  in  health.  The  organs  of  the  mind  are  as 
sensitive  as  the  optic  or  the  auditory  nerves.  This  is 
shown  by  the  fact  that  all  the  stillness  and  gentleness  of  the 
attendant  must  be  easy  and  natural,  or  it  is  unavailing. 
Evident  and  laborious  effort  to  walk  on  tiptoe,  or  to  renew 
the  fuel  in  the  grate  in  silence,  or  to  suppress  the  directions 
which  it  is  plain  are  given,  will  worry  the  mind,  even  more 
perhaps  than  the  sounds  they  avoid  would  disturb  the  ear. 
Now  we  may  learn  from  these  unquestionable  facts,  a  les- 
son in  regard  to  the  whole  manner  in  which  we  are  to  ap- 
proach the  sick,  with  the  moral  influences  which  we  attempt 
to  bring  before  them.  We  must  remember  that  even  the 
moral  powers  upon  which  we  propose  to  act  are  in  a  state 
of  morbid  sensitiveness;  at  least  that  the  corporeal  and 
mental  faculties  through  which  we  propose  to  reach  them 
are  so.  Even  the  moral  powers  themselves  may  be  mor- 
bidly sensitive,  while  yet  they  may  be  in  a  state,  as  we 
have  before  maintained,  altogether  unfavorable  to  receiving 
any  permanently  salutary  impression.     We  must  therefore 


Ch.  8.]  THE  SICK.  245 

Honesty.  Manoeuvring,  A  case  of  it. 

be  most  gentle,  and  delicate,  and  tender,  both  in  respect  to 
the  aspects  in  which  we  bring  religious  truth  before  the 
patient,  and  in  the  tone  and  manner  in  which  we  present  it. 
And  we  must  be  thus  delicate  and  gentle,  without  the 
parade  of  an  effort  to  be  so. 

3.  Be  frank  and  open  with  the  sick.  Gentleness  and 
delicacy  must  never  be  allowed  to  degenerate  into  indirect- 
ness and  artifice.  Be  open  and  frank,  and  honest  in  all 
you  do.  This  is  the  only  safe  principle,  in  fact,  in  all 
modes  of  religious  influence.  If  you  want  to  pursue  a 
couree  which  shall  do  the  least  good,  and  give  the  greatest 
offence,  your  wisest  way  is  to  adopt  a  system  of  manoeu- 
vring and  hints  and  inuendoes.  When  we  attempt  to 
convey  secret  reproof  or  instruction,  by  the  language  of 
indirectness  or  insinuation,  in  order  to  save  offence,  we 
lose  our  labor,  if  we  are  not  understood,  and  we  give 
offence  in  the  most  awkward  and  unpleasant  manner  posr- 
sible,  if  we  are. 

For  example,  a  man  has  lived  an  irregular  life,  shelter 
ed  by  his  belief  that  there  is  to  be  no  future  judgment. 
He  is  taken  sick;  he  feels  uneasy,  and  consents  that  his 
wife  should  send  for  you.  Now  we  will  suppose  that  you 
think  it  best  to  gain  access  to  him  by  stratagem.  A  verv 
common  plan  would  be  something  like  this. 

You  find  in  your  little  pocket  bible  some  strong  and  de- 
cided passage  which  asserts  a  future  retribution,  and  put 
a  mark  in  at  the  place.  Perhaps  you  adroitly  adjust  the 
mark  so  that  it  protrudes  but  a  little  from  the  lower  edges 
of  the  leaves,  so  as  to  be  observable  only  by  your  own  eye 
Thus  provided,  you  make  your  appearance  at  his  bedside, 
and  after  a  little  preliminary  conversation,  you  propose  to 
read  to  him  a  few  verses  from  the  bible,  and  open,  as  if  by 
accident,  to  the  chapter  you  have  privately  selected  with 
reference  to  his  own  case.  You  make  a  few  remarks  on 
other  verses  of  it,  but  read  very  distinctly  the  passage 
which  you  are  most  desirous  that  he  should  hear.  Then 
21* 


246  THE   WAY   TO   DO   G0013.  [Ch.  B, 

Its  effects.  Plain  dealing  safer .^ 

you  kneel  to  offer  prayer,  and,  perhaps,  to  carry  out  your 
stratagem,  you  use  expressions  which  are  aimed  all  the 
time  against  his  errors,  while  you  profess  to  be  offering 
supplications  to  God.  After  some  farther  conversation,  in 
which  you  cautiously  abstain  from  all  allusion  to  what  has 
been,  during  the  whole  time,  uppermost  in  your  mind,  you 
leave  your  patient,  thinking  that  you  have  managed  the 
delicate  case  very  adroitly. 

But  what  now  has  probably  been  the  effect  on  the  mind 
of  your  patient.  Probably  his  thoughts  have  been  occupied 
all  the  time  with  the 'question,  whether  your  selection  of 
that  chapter  was  accidental  or  designed,  and  his  specula- 
tions upon  this  have  diverted  his  mind  from  every  serious 
reflection: — if  indeed  he  has  not  seen  entirely  through  your 
thin  disguise,  and  is  not  secretly  hurt  and  displeased  at 
your  pursuing  a  policy  of  artifice  and  reserve,  which  chills 
and  discourages,  and  distresses  him.  The  truth  is,  this 
spiritual  chicanery  does  not  do.  Management,  artifice* 
manoeuvre  is  always  dangerous,  whether  between  Christian 
and  sinner,  teacher  and  pupil,  parent  and  child,  or  friend 
and  friend.  The  chance  that  any  person  will  understand 
a  hint  or  a  covert  allusion  so  far  as  to  take  its  force,  and 
yet  stop  short  of  perceiving  that  it  was  intended,  is  very 
small.  So  that  such  modes  of  acconiplishing  the  object, 
greatly  diminish  the  hope  of  doing  good,  and  vastly  in- 
crease the  probability  of  doing  injury. 

On  the  other  hand,  frank  and  open-hearted  honesty  and 
plain  dealing,  scarcely  ever  give  offence,  provided  that 
they  are  under  the  control  of  real  benevolence,  and  are  not 
dictatorial  and  assuming.  In  the  case  of  the  sick  man  last 
described,  how  much  more  easily  and  pleasantly,  both  to 
yourself  and  to  him,  would  you  gain  access  to  his  heart, 
by  ssying  at  once,  with  a  tone  of  frank  and  cheerful  kind- 
ness, "I  have  understood,  sir,  that  you  have  not  been  ac- 
custcmed  to  believe  in  a  state  of  future  retribution;  "  and 
then  leading  the  conversation  directly  and  openly  to  the 


Ch.  8.]  THE  sicn.  347 

Frankness.  Privileged  persons.  Quiet  for  the  si  rl. 

point  which  both  you  and  he  have  most  prominently  in 
view.  You  thus  open  at  once,  a  plain  and  honest  under- 
standing with  him.  He  feels  that  he  is  treated  frankly  and 
openly,  and  if  you  take  the  friendly,  unassuming  attitude 
before  him,  which  man  ought  always  to  take  with  his  fel- 
low man,  you  will  find,  that  whether  you  succeed  or  fail 
in  bringing  him  to  receive  the  truth,  you  will  not  fail  in 
securing  his  respect  ^d  attachment. 

In  fact,  plain,  honest,  open-hearted  men  are  noted  for 
giving  no  offence, — even  to  a  proverb.  They  are  called 
privileged  persons;  so  much  are  they  allowed  to  say,  with- 
out awakening  resentment  But  this,  their  freedom,  is  not 
by  any  means,  their  own  personal  prerogative;  it  is  the 
universal  privilege  of  frankness,  honesty,  and  unaffected 
good  will, — all  the  world  over. 

4.  While  we  are  plain  and  direct  in  dealing  with  the 
sick,  we  must  remember  their  weakness,  and  not  exhaust 
them  by  such  a  course  as  shall  force  them  to  active  effort  in 
our  intercourse  with  them.  So  far  as  intercourse  with  us 
is  concerned,  the  more  passive  we  leave  them,  the  better. 
Every  exertion,  mental  or  bodily,  fatigues  them.  Forming 
a  mental  conclusion  on  the  most  simple  point,  is  often  a 
burden.  If  the  question  is  only  whether  you  shall  bring 
them  one  beverage  or  another,  to  moisten  their  parched 
lips,  both  being  upon  the  table,  they  would  rather  that  you 
would  decide  than  put  the  question  to  them. 

The  act  of  considering,  fatigues,— the  simplest  question 
rouses  them  from  the  state  of  repose ;  and  framing  an  an- 
swer to  any  inquiry,  requires  an  effort  which  it  is  better  to 
save  them.  Thus  even  the  visit  of  a  friend,  who  barely 
comes  to  the  bed-side,  and  speaks  scarcely  a  word,  pro- 
duces restlessness  which  is  slow  to  subside  again.  The 
simple  presence  of  the  stranger  disturbs,  and  imposes  a 
feeling  of  restraint  and  a  necessity  of  attention; — a  sort 
o£  feeling  that  something  ought  to  be  said,  while  yet  the 
patient  has  nothing  to  say.  Even  to  look  at  a  sick  child, 
makes  him  restless  in  his  cradle. 


248  THE    WAY   TO   DO    GOOD.  [Ch.  8. 


Real  object  to  be  accomplished. 


And  yet,  that  same  sick  child  would  perhaps  enjoy  your 
visit,  if  you  pay  no  attention  to  him,  but  sit  and  talk  a  short 
time  with  his  mother.  In  that  case,  his  mind  follows  on 
easily  and  gently  in  the  train  of  your  narrative  or  dialogue, 
without  being  aroused  to  the  necessity  of  actively  partici- 
pating in  it.  The  mind  loves,  in  such  a  case,  to  be  passive 
and  still.  It  often  enjoys  a  gentle  action  exerted  upon  it, 
while  any  thing  that  arouses  it  to  any  action  in  return, 
destroys  its  rest,  and  makes  it  suffer  uneasiness  and 
fatigue. 

Now  there  are  many  cases  where  these  facts  must  be 
kept  fully  in  view,  in  efforts  to  promote  the  spiritual  benefit 
of  the  sick,  and  where  we  must  avoid  arousing  them  to  the 
necessity  of  active  intellectual  effort.  The  direct  question, 
the  train  of  argument,  interlocutory  conversation  which 
keeps  the  mind  of  the  patient  intent  to  follow  you  and  to 
frame  his  replies, — all  these  fatigue  and  exhaust,  if  the 
bodily  weakness  is  extreme.  And  they  are  not  necessary, 
as  will  be  seen  at  once,  if  we  consider  what  the  nature  of 
the  change  is,  which  we  wish  to  effect.  Whatever  may 
be  the  character  of  the  patient,  it  is  a  moral  change,  not 
an  intellectual  one,  which  we  desire  to  produce.  We  do 
not  wish  to  cultivate  his  intellect,  to  carry  him  forward  in 
theology,  or  to  try  his  strength  in  an  argument.  We  wish 
simply  to  produce  a  change  of  action  in  the  moral  move- 
ments of  his  soul.  We  wish  that  those  affections  which 
now  vibrate  in  unison  with  the  world  and  sin,  should  change 
their  character  into  a  unison  with  holiness  and  love.  It  is 
indeed  evident  that  the  truth  is  the  only  means  of  promot- 
ing this  change;  or  rather,  that  a  degree  of  truth  must  be 
admitted  by  the  mind,  or  there  can  be  no  hope.  But  then, 
in  a  vast  majority  of  cases,  this  truth  is  known  and  admitted 
beforehand.  In  fact,  far  less  is  necessary  to  make  the  way 
of  penitence  and  faith  plain  and  open  before  the  feet  of  the 
sinner,  than  is  generally  supposed. 
Besides,  it  is  not  so  much  the  truth,  in  the  shape  of  pro- 


Ch.  8.]  THE  SICK.  249 

Truth  to  be  presented  quietly. 

positions  whicii  are  to  be  maintained  by  argument,  and 
received  as  theological  theorems  forced  upon  the  mind  by 
the  severity  of  the  logic  which  sustains  them,  which  is  the 
means  of  conversion.  It  is  truth,  as  a  view,  a  moral  pic- 
ture, formed  by  the  spiritual  conception,  and  contemplated 
in  all  its  beauty  and  loveliness;  it  is  this  that  touches  the 
heart,  and  is  the  means  of  awakening  new  spiritual  life  in 
the  soul.  It  is  such  truth  as  is  jjresenied  to  the  mind, 
not  proved  to  it. 

Instead,  therefore,  of  a  labored  argument,  or  a  formal 
exhortation  to  the  sufferer,  on  the  duty  of  submitting  to 
God, — an  address  to  which  he  listens  with  painful,  weari- 
some effort, — and  which  only  leaves  him  restless  and 
uneasy  when  you  finish  it,  because  he  has  nothing  to  reply, 
you  take  from  your  pocket  a  little  hymn  book,  and  say  to 
him,  "  I  must  not  talk  with  you.  I  know  you  are  too 
feeble  to  talk,  but  I  will  read  to  you  a  few  verses  of  a 
hymn,  and  then  bid  you  good-by." 

You  then  read  as  follows: 

"  '  My  times  are  in  thy  hand,* 

My  God  I  wish  them  there; 
My  life,  my  friends,  my  soul  I  leave 

Entirely  to  thy  care. 

"  '  My  times  are  in  thy  hand,' 

Whatever  they  may  be. 
Pleasing  or  painful,  dark  or  bright. 

As  best  may  seem  to  thee. 

"  '  My  times  are  in  thy  hand,* 

Why  should  I  doubt  or  fearl 
My  Father's  hand  will  never  cause 

His  child  a  needless  tear.'  " 

Now  I  am  well  aware  that  a  cold,  hardened  lover  of  the 
world,  interested  in  religious  conversation  only  because  he 
is  alarmed  at  the  approach  of  death,  cannot  certainly  be 
expected  to  yield  himself  at  once,  with  filial  submission 


250  THE    WAY    TO    DO    GOOD.  [Ch.  8. 

A  change  of  heart.  '  The  Savior. 

into  the  hands  of  his  Maker,  merely  by  hearing  the  lan- 
guage of  submission  used  by  another;  even  if  the  reading 
of  it  is  prefaced  by  words  of  kindness  and  sympathy  on  the 
part  of  his  visiter.  The  change  from  dislike,  and  fear, 
and  shrinking,  in  respect  to  God,  to  entire  self-devotion, 
confidence  and  love,  is  altogether  too  great,  and  also 
altogether  too  far  beyond  all  mere  human  instrumentality, 
for  us  to  depend  upon  this.  Yet  still,  no  person  who  has 
observed  human  nature  with  attention,  can  doubt  that  the 
state  of  mind  produced  by  such  circumstances  as  those 
here  described,  is  most  favorable  for  the  promotion  of  this 
change.  Such  a  presentation  of  truth,  furnishes  the  occa- 
sion on  which  new  spiritual  life  is  awakened.  The  idea 
of  filial  submission,  fairly  and  distinctly  brought  before 
the  mind,  takes  a  stronger  hold  upon  the  conscience,  than 
the  most  conclusive  argument  for  submission.  The  latter 
calls  the  intellect  mainly  into  action;  the  former  goes 
directly  to  the  heart. 

We  must  remember  that  it  is  not  alarm  or  agitation,  oi 
the  giving  up  of  theological  errors,  or  perceiving  new 
theological  truth,  which  can  prepare  the  soul  for  death; — 
but  a  change  of  heart.  This  alarm  or  agitation,  or  this 
change  of  theological  opinion,  may  often  be,  especially  in 
cases  of  health,  the  antecedent  step;  and  the  labors  of  the 
preacher  may  often  be  directed  to  the  production  of  them. 
But  they  are  only  means  to  an  end,  and  there  are  some 
peculiar  reasons  why,  in  sickness,  the  attempt  to  produce 
them  should  be  avoided.  In  sickness,  the  enemy  is,  as 
it  were,  disarmed.  He  lies  defenceless  and  helpless  in 
the  hands  of  God,  and  our  policy  is  to  come  to  him  in  the 
gentlest  manner  possible,  out  of  regard  to  his  physical 
feebleness,  and  just  lay  before  him  the  bread  of  life,  in 
hopes  that  the  Holy  Spirit  will  dispose  him  to  eat  of  it,  and 
live. 

I  need  scarcely  say  that  the  mercy  of  God  in  Jesus 
Christ,  is  the  main  truth  to  be  thus  presented  to  the  mind 


il     Ch.  8.]  THE    SICK.  251 

John  Randolph.  Remorse.  An  atonement. 

of  the  sick  or  dying  sinner.  The  need  of  a  Savior  is  felt 
then,  though  it  may  have  been  denied  and  disbelieved 
before.  John  Randolph,  when  he  gazed  upon  the  word 
Remorse,  shown  to  him  at  his  direction,  upon  his  dying 
bed,  and  repeated  it  with  such  an  emphasis  of  suffering, 
and  then  turned  to  an  atoning  Savior  for  a  refuge  from  the 
terrifying  spectre,  acted  as  the  representative  of  thou- 
sands. The  soul,  distressed,  burdened,  struggling  in  vain 
to  escape  its  load  by  mere  confession,  finds  a  refuge  in  a 
Mediator,  which  it  cannot  elsewhere  find.  ''  God  so  loved 
the  world,  that  he  gave  his  only  begotten  Son,  that  whoso- 
ever would  believe  in  him  should  not  perish,  but  have 
everlasting  life," — comes  home  like  cool  water  to  the 
thirsty  soul.  There  is  no  substitute  for  it.  Nothing  else 
will  soothe  and  calm  the  troubled  spirit  under  the  anguish 
of  bitter  recollections  of  the  past,  and  dark  forebodings  for 
the  future. 

But  even  this  cup  of  comfort  and  peace  must  be  present- 
ed properly,  or  the  presentation  of  it  will  be  in  vain.  At 
least,  it  is  far  more  likely  to  be  received,  if  brought  for- 
ward in  accordance  with  the  directions  already  given. 
You  may,  for  instance,  here,  as  before,  simply  read  a  few 
verses  of  a  hymn,  in  the  patient's  hearing,  thus: 

*'  Heart-broken,  friendless,  poor,  cast  down. 

Where  shall  the  chief  of  sinners  fly. 
Almighty  Vengeance,  from  thy  frown'? 

Eternal  Justice,  from  thine  eyel 

"  Lo,  through  the  gloom  of  guilty  fears, 

My  faith  discerns  a  dawn  of  grace ; 
The  Sun  of  Righteousness  appears 

In  Jesus'  reconciling  face. 

"  My  suffering,  slain,  and  risen  Lord, 

In  sore  distress  I  turn  to  thee ; 
I  claim  acceptance  in  thy  word ; 

Jesus,  my  Savior,  ransom  me. 


fe    . 


252  THE   WAY   TO   DO    GOOD.  [Ch.   8. 


Questioning  the  patient. 


*  Prostrate  before  the  mercy  seat, 
I  dare  not,  if  I  would  despair; 
None  ever  perished  at  thy  feet. 
And  I  will  lie  for  ever  there. ' 

Or  you  may  read  a  narrative,  or  you  may  address  direct 
conversation  on  the  subject,  or  read  and  comment  upon  a 
passage  of  Scripture;  but  in  all  that  you  do,  keep  con- 
stantly in  mind  the  patient's  weakness,  and  the  state  of  his 
disease,  and  do  not  go  beyond  his  powers.  This  you  will 
easily  avoid,  if  you  leave  him  as  much  as  possible  in  a 
passive  state,  so  far  as  intercourse  with  you  is  concerned. 
Let  him  lie  quiet  and  undisturbed,  so  that  the  whole 
physical  and  intellectual  man  may  be  as  completely  as 
possible  in  a  state  of  repose,  while  you  gain  a  gentle  access 
directly  to  the  soul,  and  hold  up  there  those  exhibitions  of 
truth  which  may  awaken  the  moral  powers  to  new  spiritual 
life. 

6.  Do  not  try  to  ascertain  the  effect  of  your  instructions 
to  the  sick.  Do  what  you  can,  but  leave  the  result  to  be 
unfolded  at  a  future  day.  The  reasons  for  this  direction, 
are  two.  First,  you  cannot  ascertain  if  you  try.  and 
secondly,  you  will  generally  do  injury  by  the  attempt. 

First,  you  cannot  ascertain  if  you  try.  The  indications 
of  piety,  and  also  of  impenitence,  upon  a  sick-bed,  are 
both  exceedingly  delusive.  So  much  depends  upon  cha- 
racter, temperament,  constitution,  habits  of  expression, 
&c.  that  the  most  dissimilar  appearances  may  be  exhibited 
in  cases  where  the  spiritual  state  is  substantially  the  same. 
In  one  case,  the  heart  is  really  changed,  but  the  subject 
of  the  change  dares  not  believe  it,  and  still  less  dares  he 
express  any  hope  of  it;  and  his  darkness  and  despondency 
would  be  mistaken  almost  universally,  for  continued  im- 
penitence and  insubmission.  Another,  deceived  by  the 
illusions  which  we  have  already  explained,  finds  a  false 
peace,  which,  the  more  baseless  it  is,  the  more  confidently 
he  expresses  it;  and  Christians  very  rarely  question  the 


Ch.  8.]  THE  SICK.  253 


IMfficnlty  of  judging. 


sincerity  of  professions,  unless  they  are  compelled  to  do 
it  by  gross  inconsistency  of  conduct. 

These  difficulties  exist,  it  is  true,  in  other  cases  besides 
those  of  sickness,  and  they  should  teach  us  to  be  less 
eager  to  ascertain  the  immediate  results  of  our  efforts, 
than  we  usually  are;  and  less  credulous  in  trusting  to 
them.  But  they  apply  with  tenfold  force  to  sickness, 
whether  it  be  in  the  sufferings  of  acute  disease,  or  in  the 
slow  lingerings  of  decline.  The  world  is  shut  out,  and 
the  ordinary  test, — the  only  safe  one, — the  fruit,  is  here 
excluded. 

Then,  secondly,  we  do  injury  by  endeavoring  to  ascer- 
tain. We  harass  and  fatigue  the  patient  by  pressing  him 
to  give  us  an  answer  to  the  claims  which  we  present  to 
him.  If  we  lay  truth  and  duty  before  him,  and,  as  it  were, 
leave  it  there,  his  health  will  suffer  far  less,  than  if  we  fol- 
low it  with  a  sort  of  inquisition  into  its  effects.  To  bear 
an  examination  is  very  hard  work,  when  the  subject  is 
strong  and  well, — it  is  exhausting  and  irritating,  to  the  lasi 
degree,  in  sickness,  especially  when  the  patient  would 
hardly  know  how  to  express  his  feelings,  even  if  they  were 
distinctly  developed  and  mature,  and  he  is,  in  fact,  only 
beginning  to  experience  new  states  of  mind  which  he 
scarcely  understands  himself,  and  certainly  cannot  describe. 

It  is  far  better,  both  for  ourselves,  and  for  the  soul  which 
we  wish  to  save,  that  we  should  not  make  much  effort  to 
remove  the  veil  which  hangs  over  his  future  condition. 
We  shall  go  on  with  our  work  in  a  more  humble  manner, 
and  in  a  better  spirit,  if  we  feel  that  the  duty  only  is  ours; 
and  the  result  of  it,  God's;  and  the  sinner  who  has  post- 
poned repentance  till  summoned  to  his  sick  chamber,  will 
be  most  sure  of  being  safe  at  last  if  he  does  not  think 
himself  safe  too  soon.  Some  degree  of  uncertainty  in 
respect  to  the  genuineness  of  a  change  which  has  been 
produced  under  such  circumstances,  will  be  the  best  for 
him,  whether  he  is  to  live  or  die. 


254  THE    WAY    TO    DO    GOOD.  [Ch.  8. 


Faint  hope  of  success. 


7.  Do  not  confidently  expect  much  good  effect.  This, 
however,  ought  not  to  be  said  in  an  unqualified  manner, 
for  in  all  our  efforts,  a  degree  of  expectation  and  hope  is 
justly  warranted,  both  by  the  word  of  God  and  by  common 
observation, — and  this  degree  we  ought  to  entertain  as  a 
means  of  enabling  us  to  work  with  ease  and  pleasure,  and 
with  a  prospect  of  success.  But  in  our  intercourse  with 
the  sick,  we  must  not  so  depend  upon  leading  them  to 
repentance  at  the  late  hour  to  which  they  have  postponed 
their  duty,  as  to  be  disappointed  and  discouraged  if  we  see 
no  decided  evidence  of  a  change.  Preparation  for  death 
in  sickness,  is  made  far  less  frequently  than  is  generally 
supposed.  It  is  surprising  that  it  is  ever  made  at  all.  But 
the  faintest  hope  that  an  immortal  soul  may  be  saved, 
justifies  the  most  earnest  efforts,  and  the  most  heartfelt 
prayer.  This  effort  must  by  all  means  be  made,  but  it 
would  be  well  for  mankind,  if  they  could,  by  any  means, 
be  undeceived  about  the  nature  of  the  spiritual  influ- 
ences which  will  surround  them  in  their  dying  hours.  In 
each  particular  instance  that  occurs,  our  sympathy  with 
surviving  friends  leads  us  to  hope  against  hope,  and  to 
encourage  expectations  which  do  not  indeed  affect  the 
dead,  but  which  raise  a  false  light  to  lure  and  destroy  the 
living.  We  ought  to  do  all  in  our  power  t©  make  known 
the  melancholy  truth, — sad,  but  unquestionable, — that 
when  the  last  hours  of  life  come,  it  is  generally  too  late 
to  make  preparation,  if  it  has  been  delayed,  and  too  late 
even  to  finish  it,  if  it  has  only  been  begun.  It  is  too  late, 
not  because  repentance  would  not  even  then  be  availing, 
but  because  it  is  the  tendency  of  that  last  sad  occasion,  if 
it  disturbs  the  stupor  of  sin  at  all,  not  to  bring  penitence, 
but  only  agitation,  anxiety  and  alarm. 

8.  The  preceding  heads  have  related  chiefly  to  those 
whom  the  invasion  of  sickness,  or  the  approach  of  death, 
has  found  unprepared.  We  are  often,  however,  called  to 
*he  bed-side  of  the  dying  Christian,  whose  life  has  exhibit- 


Ch.  8.]  THE  SICK.  255 

The  sick  Christian.  How  decline. 

ed  evidence  of  his  reconciliation  with  God.  Our  duty  with 
these,  is  to  go  on  with  them  as  far  as  we  may,  into  the 
dark  valley,  to  cheer,  and  sustain,  and  help  them.  God 
has  himself  promised  to  be  their  stay  and  support,  and  the 
means  he  uses  to  accomplish  this  promise,  are  often  tx)  a 
great  extent,  the  kindness  and  sympathy  of  a  Christian 
friend.  These  cases  are,  in  some  important  respects,  dif- 
ferent from  the  preceding.  In  those,  the  work  of  life  has 
been  neglected,  and  is  crowded  into  the  last  melancholy 
hours:  in  these,  that  work  is  done  already,  and  nothing 
remains  but  to  go  through  the  last  sickness  and  suffering, 
to  the  home  anticipated  and  provided  for.  In  the  other 
cases,  therefore,  though  there  was  need  of  the  greatest 
delicacy  and  quiet  in  the  mode  of  calling  the  patient's 
attention  to  what  was  to  be  done,  there  was  yet  a  great 
deal  to  do.  In  the  latter,  we  have  only  to  smooth  the  path 
of  the  sufferer,  and  speak  to  him  in  tones  of  sympathy  and 
affection,  and  walk  along  by  his  side. 

Whatever  influence  the  degree  of  holiness  which  the 
Christian  may  have  attained  to  during  his  life,  may  have 
upon  his  happiness  and  glory  in  eternity,  we  have  very 
little  evidence  that  any  progress  which  he  can  make  in  a 
few  days  of  severe  sickness  will  materially  affect  it.  Our 
wisest  course,  therefore,  in  such  a  case,  is,  to  bring  occa- 
sionally before  the  mind,  as  our  interviews  may  give  us 
opportunity,  such  presentations  of  divine  truth,  as  may  re- 
awaken holy  feeling,  and  cheer  and  sustain  the  heart.  One 
of  David's  short  and  simple  petitions,  or  a  scriptural 
promise,  or  a  verse  or  two  of  a  hymn,  not  didactic,  but 
expressive  of  feeling,  or  a  few  words  in  a  gentle  tone,  so 
framed  as  not  to  admit  of  a  reply,  will  be  all,  in  many  cases, 
that  the  patient  can  bear.  I  speak  now  of  cases  of  some- 
what severe  disease.  In  these,  if  we  have  good  evidence 
that  the  preparation  for  death  is  really  made,— we  must, 
as  much  as  possible  leave  the  sufferer  in  repose.  We 
must   bring   religious   truth    before   the    mind   chiefly   to 


ii^' 


^6  THE  Way  to  do  good.  [Ch.  8. 


Expressions  of  piety  by  the  sick. 


strengthen  and  sustain  it,  and  to  keep  there  an  assurance 
of  the  unfailing  kindness  and  continued  presence  of  the 
Savior,  who  has  promised  to  love  and  to  keep  his  children 
to  the  end. 

We  err  often  in  such  cases,  by  endeavoring  to  draw 
from  the  dying  Christian,  the  assurances  of  his  unwavering 
hope,  or  his  last  testimony  to  the  reality  of  religion.  We 
do  this  partly  to  procure  subjects  of  pleasant  recollection 
to  friends,  and  partly  to  furnish  new  and  corroborating 
evidence  to  the  truth  of  Christianity.  But  it  is  wrong  to 
make  any  such  efforts.  We  may  safely  listen  to  and 
receive  whatever  the  patient  may  spontaneously  say;  in 
fact,  some  of  the  most  striking  and  most  powerful  evidences 
of  the  power  of  religion,  have  been  furnished  by  the  testi- 
mony which  has  been  recorded  from  the  lips  of  the  dying. 
But  if  it  is  extorted,  or  even  drawn  out  in  the  most  delicate 
manner,  it  is  of  little  worth. 

Besides,  it  is  sometimes  even  cruel  to  attempt  to  do 
this.  It  is  painful  and  fatiguing  in  the  extreme  for  the 
patient  to  be  examined, — or  to  be  drawn  into  a  conver- 
sation so  conducted  as  la  have  all  the  inquisitorial  effects 
of  an  examination.  Then  the  results,  in  such  a  case,  are 
no  safe  criterion.  The  mind  is  so  extensively  and  myste- 
riously affected  by  the  complicated  influences  of  disease, 
and  nervous  exhilaration  or  depression  will  so  mingle  with, 
and  modify  the  religious  feelings  and  hopes,  that  the  lan- 
guage and  expressions  of  sickness  can  be,  in  many  cases, 
only  faintly  relied  upon  as  real  evidences  of  the  spiritual 
state. 

In  cases  of  long  continued  and  lingering  disease,  a 
greater  latitude  of  religious  conversation  and  intercourse 
with  a  christian  patient,  may  be  allowed  than  would  be 
useful  in  a  rapid  and  fatal  disorder.  In  fact,  in  such  a 
case,  the  patient  may,  in  the  course  of  several  months  of 
slow  decline,  make  a  very  considerable  progress  in  piety, 
and  the  christian  visiter  may  have  such  a  progress  in  mind. 


Ch.  8.]  THE  SICK.  257 

Professions.  Authority  of  physician.        ; 

and  act  with  special  reference  to  it  in  all  his  intercourse. 
In  this  case,  however,  there  is  one  great  danger;  especially 
where  the  subject  is  young.  The  visiter  insensibly  allows 
the  object  before  his  mind,  to  change  from  a  simple  desire 
to  promote  the  spiritual  progress  of  his  charge,  into  a 
desire  to  gratify  himself  with  the  indications  of  this  pro- 
gress. His  conversations  gradually  assume  a  tendency  to 
elicit  expressions  of  piety,  rather  than  to  promote  the 
silent  progress  of  piety  within.  The  consequence  is,  that 
after  a  time,  some  action  or  expression  on  the  part  of  the 
patient,  betrays  lurking  vanity  or  spiritual  pride,  which 
astonishes  and  grieves  his  visiter,  and  he  opens  his  eyes  to 
the  sad  fact,  that  he  has  been  all  the  time  cherishing  affec- 
tation and  love  of  display.  I  do  not  mean  that  it  has  been 
all  affectation  and  love  of  display.  These  feelings  have 
insensibly  and  slowly  mingled  with,  and  poisoned  the  piety 
which  existed  at  first,  and  it  is  these  which  the  deceived 
visiter  has  been,  with  far  different  intentions,  steadily  de- 
veloping. 

As  the  human  heart  is,  we  cannot  be  too  cautious  in  all 
cases  and  under  all  circumstances,  how  we  encourage  and 
appear  to  be  pleased  with  professions  of  any  sort.  The 
step  is  so  short  and  so  easily  taken,  from  a  profession 
springing  spontaneously  and  honestly  out  of  the  feeling  it 
represents,  to  a  profession  arising  from  a  self  complacency 
in  the  credit  of  that  feeling,  that  the  latter  comes  very 
readily  after  the  former.  And  this  consideration  mingles 
with  those  others  which  have  been  already  adduced,  to  urge 
us  to  be  content  when  we  have  faithfully  endeavored  to  do 
the  good,  without  being  too  solicitous  to  ascertain  exactly 
whether  the  good  is  done. 

9.  We  close  this  series  of  directions  with  one  which 
might  very  properly  have  been  placed  at  the  commence- 
ment of  it.  In  all  our  intercourse  with  the  sick,  we  must 
acknowledge  and  submit  to  the  authority  of  the  physician 
and  the  friends,  in  respect  to  the  extent  to  which  we  may 
22* 


25S  THE    WAY  TO    DO    GOOD.  [Ch.    8. 


Limits  and  restrictions. 


go  in  regard  to  a  spiritual  influence  upon  them  We 
ought  not  to  violate  by  stealth  or  otherwise,  the  wishes  of 
those  upon  whom  Providence  has  placed  the  responsibility, 
and  to  whom  he  has  given  the  control.  I  will  not  say 
that  there  may  not  be  some  rare  exceptions,  but  certainly 
no  one  can  doubt  that  where  parental  authority,  in  a  case 
fairly  within  parental  jurisdiction,  or  the  orders  of  a  physi- 
cian who  has  the  responsibility  of  life  and  death  resting 
upon  him,  rise  up  like  a  wall  in  our  way,  there  Providence 
does  not  intend  that  we  shall  go.  Whatever  good  we 
might  fancy  that  we  could  do  by  violating  these  sacred 
powers,  we  have  no  right  to  violate  them.  In  fact  we 
should  do  no  good  to  violate  them,  for  we  should  create 
a  suspicion  and  jealousy  which  would  close  many  more 
doors  than  we  should  thus  unjustifiably  open.  It  is  well  for 
the  spiritual  friend  of  the  patient  to  have  an  understanding 
with  the  physician,  and  obtain  some  knowledge  of  the  na- 
ture of  the  disease,  especially  in  respect  to  its  influence 
upon  the  mind;  and  then  to  endeavor  to  fall  in  with  the 
plan  of  cure  pursued,  at  least  to  do  nothing  to  interfere 
with,  or  thwart  it.  We  are  bound  to  do  this,  even  in  a 
religious  point  of  view,  for  the  hope  of  salvation  in  the  case 
of  a  sick  sinner,  lies  generally  more  in  a  hope  of  recovery, 
than  in  any  reasonable  expectation  of  benefit  from  spiritual 
instructions  given  upon  a  dying  bed.  Besides,  God  has 
surrounded  us  in  every  direction,  in  this  world,  with  limits 
and  restrictions  in  our  efforts  to  do  good.  We  must  keep 
ourselves  fairly  within  these  limits.  What  we  cannot  do 
without  trespassing  beyond  them,  we  must  be  wilHng  to 
leave  undone.  Thus,  in  order  to  accomplish  our  benevo- 
lent plans,  we  must  never  violate  the  rights  of  conscience 
or  of  property,  or  invade  the  just  and  prO])er  liberty  to 
which  every  man  has  an  undefeasible  title,  or  be  guilty  of 
artifice  or  of  unworthy  subterfuge,  or  infringe  upon  any 
sacred  relations  which  God  has  established,  and  which  he 
justly  requires  us  to  respect.     We  must  go  forward  to  our 


Ch.    9.J  CHILDREN.  C59 


A  supposition.  The  infants. 


work,  not  so  anxious  to  effect  our  object,  as  to  do  nothing 
in  any  degree  wrong  in  the  attempt  to  effect  it.  We  must 
conform  most  strictly  and  invariably  to  all  those  principles 
which  we  are  endeavoring  to  promote,  and  never  transgress 
them  ourselves,  in  our  eagerness  to  extend  them  to  others. 
In  a  v/ord,  we  must  be  upright,  pure,  honest,  open  and  in- 
corruptible in  all  we  do.  What  we  cannot  effect  in  this 
way,  we  must  suppose  that  God  does  not  intend  that  we 
shall  effect  at  all, — always  remembering  that  a  pure  and 
an  unspotted  example  of  piety,  is  more  efficacious  in  pro- 
moting the  spread  of  the  gospel,  than  any  measures,  what- 
ever, which  we  have  to  carry  into  effect  by  the  sacrifice  of 
principle. 


CHAPTER   IX. 

CHILDREN. 


**  It  is  not  the  will  of  your  Father  in  heaven  that  one  of  these  little  ones 
should   perish." 

Suppose  that  a  hundred  healthy  infants,  each  a  few 
weeks  old,  were  taken  from  the  city  of  Constantinople, 
and  arranged  under  the  care  of  nurses,  in  a  suite  of  apart- 
ments, in  some  public  hospital.  In  an  adjoining  range  of 
rooms,  let  another  hundred,  taken  from  the  most  virtuous 
families  in  Scotland,  be  placed.  Take  another  hundred 
from  the  haunts  of  smugglers,  or  of  the  pirates  which  infest 
the  West  India  Seas;  another  from  the  high  nobility  of  the 
families  of  England,  and  another  from  the  lowest  and  most 
degraded  haunts  of  vice,  in  the  faubourg  St.  Antoine,  in 
Paris.  Now,  if  such  an  infantile  representation  were  made, 
of  some  of  tlie  most  marked  and  most  dissimilar  of  the 
classes,  into  which  the  Caucasian  race  has  been  divided, 
by  the  progress  of  time,  and  the  doors  of  the  various  apart- 


660  THE    WAY    TO    DO    GOOD.  [Ch.  9. 


Effect  of  education. 


ments  thrown  open, — the  question  is,  whether  the  most 
minute  and  thorough  scrutiny  could  distinguish  between 
the  classes,  and  assign  each  to  its  origin.  They  are  to  be 
under  one  common  system  of  arrangement  and  attendance, 
—and  we  have  supposed  all  the  subjects  to  be  healthy,  in 
order  to  cut  off  grounds  of  distinction,  which  an  intelligent 
physician  might  observe  in  hereditary  tendencies  to  disease. 
Under  these  circumstances,  if  the  several  collections  be 
subjected  to  the  most  thorough  examination,  would  any  in- 
genuity or  science  be  able  to  establish  a  distinction  between 
them?  Probably  not.  There  would  be  the  same  forms 
and  the  same  color; — the  same  instincts, — the  same  cries. 
The  cradles  which  would  lull  the  inmates  of  one  apartment 
to  repose,  would  be  equally  lulling  to  the  others, — and  the 
same  bright  objects,  or  distinct  sounds,  which  would  awak- 
en the  senses,  and  give  the  first  gentle  stimulus  to  mind, 
in  one  case,  would  do  the  same  in  all.  Thus  inspection 
alone  of  these  specimens  would  not  enable  us  to  label  them; 
and  if  they  were  to  remain  months,  or  even  years  under 
our  care,  for  concealed  and  embryo  differences  to  be  de- 
veloped, we  should  probably  wait  in  vain. 

But,  instead  of  thus  waiting,  let  us  suppose  that  the  five 
hundred  children  are  dismissed,  each  to  its  mother  and  its 
home,  and  that  they  all  pass  through  the  years  of  childhood 
and  youth,  exposed  to  the  various  influences  which  surround 
them  in  the  dwellings  and  neighborhoods  to  which  they  re- 
spectively belong; — among  the  bazars  and  mosques  of  the 
Turkish  city,  or  the  glens  and  hill  sides  of  Scotland,  or  in 
the  home  of  noise  and  violence,  whether  forecastle  or  hut, — 
of  the  bucaniers, — or  in  the  nurseries  and  drawingrooms 
of  Grovesnor  Square,  or  the  dark  crowded  alleys  of  the 
Parisian  faubourg.  Distribute  them  thus  to  the  places  to 
which  they  respectively  belong,  and  leave  them  there,  till 
the  lapse  of  time  has  brought  them  to  maturity  ; — then 
bring  them  all  together,  for  examination  again. 

How  widely  will  they  be  found  to  have  separated  now.^ 


Ch.  9. J  CHILDREN.  261 


Education  of  circumstances. 


Though  they  commenced  life  alike  and  together,  their  paths 
began  at  once  to  diverge,  and  now,  when  we  compare 
them,  how  totally  dissimilar.  Contrast  the  Turk  with  the 
Scot, — the  hardened  pirate,  with  the  effeminate  nobleman. 
Examine  their  characters  thoroughly, — their  feelings,  their 
opinions,  their  principles  of  conduct,  their  plans  of  life, 
their  pursuits,  their  hopes,  their  fears.  Almost  every  thing 
is  dissimilar.  There  is,  indeed,  a  common  humanity  in  all, 
but  every  thing  not  essential  to  the  very  nature  of  man  is 
changed ;  and  characters  are  formed,  so  totally  dissimilar, 
that  we  might  almost  doubt  the  identity  of  the  species. 

There  is  another  thing  to  be  observed,  too, — that  every 
individual  of  each  class,  with  scarcely  a  single  exception, 
goes  with  his  class,  and  forms  a  character  true  to  the  influ- 
ences which  have  operated  upon  him  in  his  own  home. 
You  will  look  in  v*ain  for  a  character  of  luxurious  effemin- 
acy among  the  pirates'  sons,  or  for  virtuous  principle  among 
children  brought  up  in  a  community  of  thieves.  You  can 
find  cases  enough,  of  this  kind,  it  is  true,  in  works  of 
fiction,  but  few  in  real  life; — and  those  few  are  not  real 
exceptions.  They  are  accounted  for,  by  the  mixed  influ- 
ences, which,  on  account  of  some  peculiar  circumstances, 
bear  upon  some  individuals,  and  modify  the  character  which 
they  might  have  been  expected  to  form.  The  Turkish  chil- 
dren are  all  Turks,  unless  there  may  be  one  here  and  there, 
among  a  million,  whose  course  may  have  been  deflected  a 
little  by  some  extraordinary  circumstances  in  his  history. 
So  the  Parisian  children  all  become  Frenchmen  in  their 
feelings  and  opinions,  and  principles  of  action; — ^the  aris- 
tocratic children  all  become  aristocratic;  and  all  those  who 
in  London  or  Paris  find  their  homes  in  the  crowded  quar- 
ters of  vice, — if  they  are  brought  up  thieves  and  beggars, 
thieves  and  beggars  they  will  live. 

And  yet  it  is  not  education,  in  the  common  sense  of  that 
term,  which  produces  these  effects  upon  human  character; 
that  is,  it  is  not  formal  efforts,  on  the  part  of  parents  and 


L 


262  THE    WAY    TO    DO    GOOD.  [Ch.  9. 

lustructions  not  exclusively  for  parents. 

friends,  to  instruct  and  train  up  the  young  to  walk  in  their 
own  footsteps.  In  respect  to  the  acquisition  of  knowledge, 
and  of  accomplishments,  great  effort  would  be  made  to 
give  formal  instruction  by  some  of  the  classes  enumerated 
above;  but  in  regard  to  almost  all  that  relates  to  the  form- 
ation of  character, — principles  of  action, — the  sentiments 
and  the  feelings, — the  work  is  done  by  the  thousand  name- 
less influences  which  surround  every  child,  and  which  con- 
stitute the  moral  atmosphere  in  which  he  spends  his  youth- 
ful years. 

Now  this  kind  of  moral  atmosphere,  which  is  so  effectual 
in  determining  the  character  which  the  children  who  grow 
up  in  the  midst  of  it  form,  every  one  does  a  great  deal  to 
produce, — altogether  more  than  he  would  at  first  suppose 
possible.  So  that  our  influence  upon  the  young,  is  an  ex- 
ceedingly important  department  of  our  opportunities  of 
doing  good.  In  fact,  God  has  assigned  us  a  double  duty 
to  perform,  while  we  remain  here.  First,  to  use  the  world 
well,  while  we  continue  in  it;  and,  secondly,  to  prepare  a 
generation  to  receive  the  trust,  when  we  shall  pass  away 
from  the  scene.  We  are  not  only  to  occupy  well  ourselves, 
but  to  train  up  and  qualify  our  successors. 

Now  the  reader  may,  perhaps,  think  that  these  remarks, 
and  what  remains  in  this  chapter,  on  the  subject  of  the 
yoiing,  must  be  intended  principally  for  parents.  Far  from 
it;  for  there  are  many  relations  in  life,  which  give  us  a  very 
free  access  to  the  young,  and  an  influence  over  them  as  an 
inevitable  result.  One  person  is  a  parent,  and  consequently 
exercises  a  very  controlling  influence  over  the  whole  char- 
acter and  future  prospects  of  his  children.  Another  is  a 
brother  or  sister,  and  enjoys  opportunities  of  influence, 
almost  as  great  as  those  of  a  father  or  mother.  Another, 
who  lives,  perhaps,  in  a  family  where  there  are  no  children, 
is  intimate  in  the  families  of  neighbors  or  friends,  and  is 
thus  thrown  into  frequent  intercourse  for  years,  with  cous- 
ins and  nephews  and  neices,  who  are  all  the  time  catching 


Ch.  9.]  CHILDREN.  263 

Influence  of  relatives.  The  worsted  pocketbook. 

his  spirit  and  imbibing  his  principles.  An  uncle,  or  an 
aunt,  in  such  a  case,  is  very  apt  to  imagine  that  they  have 
nothing  to  do,  but  to  keep  in  the  good  graces  of  their  little 
relatives,  by  an  occasional  picture  book  or  sugar  toy.  They 
forget  the  vast  effects,  which  ten  years  of  almost  constant 
and  yet  unguarded  intercourse  must  have;  and  still  more, 
the  very  powerful  influence  which  it  might  have,  in  giving 
a  right  moral  turn  to  the  sentiments  and  the  feelings,  and 
the  whole  cast  of  character,  if  the  opportunity  was  proper- 
ly improved.  In  fact,  if  we  look  back  to  our  own  early 
days,  we  shall  remember  in  how  many  instances  our  opin- 
ions, and  sentiments,  and  feelings,  and,  perhaps,  our  whole 
cast  of  character  received  a  turn  from  the  influence  of  an 
uncle,  or  an  aunt,  or  neighbor.  In  my  father's  family, 
there  was  an  antique  pocketbook,  of  particolored  worsted, 
— the  admiration  of  our  childish  eyes, — a  collection  of  the 
college  compositions,  and  journals,  and  letters,  of  an  amia- 
ble uncle,  who  died  so  early  that  his  nephews  could  never 
know  hiai,  except  through  these  remains.  And  many  a 
rainy  day,  and  many  a  winter  evening  was  this  pocketbook 
explored,  as  a  mine  of  instruction  and  enjoyment.  Moral 
principle  was  awakened  and  cultivated  by  the  senti- 
ments of  an  essay,  and  literary  interest  or  ambition  aroused 
by  the  spirit  of  a  forensic  discussion,  or  by  the  various 
memorials  of  a  college  life;  and  feelings  of  kindness  and 
good  will  were  cherished  by  the  amiable  and  gentle  spirit, 
which  breathed  in  the  letters  or  the  journal.  The  whole 
undoubtedly  exerted  a  vast  influence,  in  giving  form  to  the 
character  and  sentiments  of  the  boys  who  had  access  to  it; 
and  yet  how  vastly  greater  would  have  been  the  influence 
of  a  constant  intercourse  with  the  living  man. 

Or,  if  the  reader  has  neither  of  the  above  means  of  in- 
fluence, he  is  or  may  be,  perhaps,  a  Sabbath  school  teach- 
er, or  he  may  have  boys  in  his  employment,  or  he  may,  in 
his  business,  have  frequent  intercourse  with  many  who 
come  to  him  as  messengers,  or  who  stand  by,  unnoticed 


2ni  THE    WAY   TO    DO    GOOD.  [Ch.  9. 

Plan  of  the  chapter. 

but  very  attentive  listeners  to  his  directions  or  conversation. 
We  thus,  in  a  thousand  other  ways,  have  a  connection  with 
the  young,  which,  though  we  may  consider  it  slight,  yet 
exerts  a  powerful  influence  in  impressing  our  characters 
upon  the  plastic  material  which  it  reaches.  Hence,  all 
who  wish  to  do  good,  should  understand  something  of  the 
character  and  susceptibilities  of  children,  and  make  it  a 
part  of  their  constant  care,  to  exert  as  happy  and  as  salu- 
tary an  influence  upon  them,  as  they  can.  I  proceed  to 
give  some  practical  directions  by  which  this  must  be  done. 
They  are  not  intended  particularly  for  parents,  but  for  all 
who  have  any  intercourse  with  the  young.  They  who  have 
made  this  subject  a  particular  subject  of  reflection,  will  find 
nothing  new  in  these  suggestions.  They  are  the  principles 
which  common  sense,  and  the  results  of  common  observa- 
tion establish; — ^they  are  presented  here,  not  as  discoveries, 
but  as  obvious  truths,  to  be  kept  in  mind  by  those  who 
would  accomplish  the  most  extensive  and  the  most  unmixed 
good,  in  this  part  of  the  widely  extended  vineyard  of  God. 
We  scarcely  need  remark,  that  this  direction  will  relate 
solely  to  the  employment  of  human  means,  which  can  be 
really  successful  in  promoting  that  thorough  change  in  the 
(desires  and  affections  of  the  heart  which  constitutes  salva- 
ii^A,  only  so  far  as  they  may  be  made  instrumental  to  this 
end  by  the  Spirit  of  God. 

The  plan  of  discussion  which  we  shall  pursue  will  be, 

I.  To  consider  some  of  the  prominent  characteristics 
of  childhood,  in  accordance  with  which,  an  influence  over 
the  young,  can  alone  be  secured. 

II.  Deduce  from  them  some  general  rules. 

I.    PROMINENT    CHARACTERISTICS    OF    CHILDHOOD. 

To  understand  the  course  which  must  be  taken,  in  order 
to  secure  an  influence  over  children,  we  must  first  under- 
stand the  leading  principles  and  characteristics  of  child- 


I      Ch.  9.]  CHILDREN.  265 


Characteristics  of  childhood. 


hood, — for  it  is  these,  which  we  are  to  act  upon.     In  a 
summary  expression  of  these,  we  may  say  that  to  exercise 
upon  every  object  their  dawning  faculties,  both  of  body 
and  mind, — to  learn  all  they  can  about  the  world  into  which 
they  are  ushered,  presenting,  as  it   does,  so  strange  and 
imposing  a  spectacle  to  their  senses, — to  love  those  who 
sympathize  with  and  aid  them  in  these  objects, — and  to 
catch  the  spirit,  and  imitate  the  actions  of  those  whom  they 
thus  love, — these  we   should  say,  are  the  great  leading 
principles,  by  which  the  moral  and  intellectual  nature  of 
childhood  is  governed.     These  we  shall  consider  in  detail 
I.  To  exercise  their  opening  faculties. 
The  infant's  first  pleasure  of  this  kind,  is  the  employ- 
ment of  the  senses,  beginning  with  gazing  at  the  fire,  or 
listening  with  quiet  pleasure  to  the  sound  of  his  mother's 
voice  singing  in  his  ear.    While  the  little  being  just  usher- 
ed into  existence,  lies  still  in  his  cradle,  gazing  upon  the 
wall,  or  with  his  chin  upon  his  nurse's  shoulder,  listens  al- 
most breathlessly  to  the  song  which  is  lulling  him  to  sleep, 
how  often  does  the  mother  say,  "I  should  like  to  know 
exactly  what  he  is  thinking  of, — what  state  of  mind  he  is 
in."     It  is  not  very  difficult,  probably,  to  tell.     Imagine 
yourself  in  his  situation;  look  up  upon  the  white  wall,  and 
banish  all  thought  and  reflection,  as  far  as  you  can, — or 
rather  conceive  of  yourself  as  having  done  it  entirely,  so 
as  in  imagination  to  arrest  all  operations  of  the  mind,  and 
retain  nothing  but  vision.    Let  the  light  come  in  to  the  eye, 
and  produce  the  sensation  of  whiteness,  and  nothing  more. 
Let  it  awaken  no  thought,  no  reflection,  no  inquiry.     Im- 
agine yourself  never  to  have  seen  any  white  before,  so  as 
to  make  the  impression  a  novel  one, — and  also  imagine 
yourself  never  to  have  seen  any  thing,  or  heard  any  thing, 
before,  so  as  to  cut  ofl^  all  ground  for  wonder  or  surprise. 
In  a  word,  conceive  of  a  mind,  in  the  state  of  simple  sensa- 
tion, with  none  of  those  thousand  feelings  and  thoughts, 
which  sensation  awakens  in  the  spirit  that  is  mature,  and 
23 


20^  THE   WAV  TO   ba  GOOD.  [Ch.  9. 

Mental  processes.  Pleasure  of  action. 

you  have  probably  the  exact  state  of  the  infantile  intellect, 
when  the  first  avenues  are  opened,  by  which  the  external 
world  is  brought  to  act  upon  its  embryo  mind.  Can  it  be 
surprising,  then,  under  such  circumstances,  that  even  mere 
sensation  should  be  pleasure  ? 

As  the  child  advances  through  the  first  months  of  exist- 
ence, the  mental  part  of  the  processes  which  the  sensations 
awaken,  are  more  and  more  developed;  for  we  are  not  to 
consider  the  powers  of  mind  as  called  at  once  into  exist- 
ence, complete  and  independent  at  the  beginning,  and  then 
joined  to  the  corporeal  frame, — ^but  as  gradually  developed 
in  the  progress  of  years,  and  that  too,  in  a  great  measure, 
through  the  instrumentality  of  the  senses.  After  some 
months  have  passed  away,  the  impressions  from  without, 
penetrate,  as  it  were,  farther  within,  and  awaken  new  sus- 
ceptibilities which  gradually  develope  themselves.  Now 
each  new  faculty  is  a  new  possession,  and  the  simple  exer- 
cise of  it,  without  end  or  aim;  is  and  must  be  a  great  posi- 
tive pleasure.  First  comes  the  power  to  walk.  We  are 
always  surprised  at  seeing  how  much  delight  the  chUd,  who 
first  finds  that  he  has  strength  and  steadiness  to  go  upright 
across  the  room,  finds,  in  going  across  again  and  again, — 
from  table  to  chair,  and  from  chair  to  sofa,  as  long  as  his 
strength  remains.  But  why  shouidwe  be  surprised  at  it? 
Suppose  the  inhabitants  of  any  town  should  find  themselves 
suddenly  possessed  of  the  power  of  flying; — we  should 
find  them,  for  hours  and  days,  filUng  the  air,  flitting  from 
tree  to  tree,  and  from  house  top  to  steeple,  with  no  end  or 
aim,  but  the  pleasure  enjoyed  in  the  simple  exercise  of  a 
new  poiver.  The  crowds  which  press  to  the  ticket  office  of 
a  new  railroad, — or  the  multitudes  of  delighted  citizens, 
brought  out  by  an  unexpected  fall  of  snow  in  a  warm  cli- 
mate, jingling  about  in  every  sort  of  vehicle  that  can  be 
made  to  slide,  show  that  man  has  not  outgrown  the  principle. 
Now  this  love  of  the  exercise  of  the  new  power,  is  ob- 
vious enough,  in  the  cases  I  have  referred  to,  as  seeing, 


Ch.  9.]  CHILDREN.  ^67 

Understanding  language.  Stories. 


hearing,  walking,  and  in  many  other  cases,  as  using  the 
limbs,  producing  sound  by  striking  hard  bodies,  breaking, 
upsetting,  piling  up  blocks,  or  dragging  about  crickets  and 
chairs.  It  is  precisely  the  same  feeling,  which  would  lead 
a  man  to  go  about,  uprooting  trees,  or  breaking  enormous 
rocks,  if  he  should  suddenly  find,  himself  endued  with  the 
power  of  doing  so.  It  is  obvious  enough,  in  these  common 
physical  operations,  but  we  forget  how  many  thousand 
mental  processes  there  are,  and  others  complicated,  partly 
mental  and  partly  physical,  which  possess  the  same  charm 
in  their  incipient  exercise,  and  which,  in  fact,  make  up  a 
large  portion  of  the  occupations  and  eryoyments  of  child- 
hood. 

One  of  the  earliest  examples  of  a  mental  process,  or 
rather  power  which  the  child  is  always  pleased  to  exercise, 
is  understanding  language,  or,  to  describe  it  more  accurate 
ly,  the  susceptibility  of  having  pleasant  images  awakened 
in  the  mind,  by  means  of  the  magical  power  of  certain 
sounds  striking  upon  the  ear.  There  are  thousands  who 
have  observed  the  indications  of  this  pleasure,  who  do  not 
understand  the  nature  and  the  source  of  it.  Every  mo- 
ther, for  example,  observes  that  children  love  to  be  talked 
to,  long  before  they  can  talk  themselves;  and  they  imagine 
that  what  pleases  the  listener,  is  his  interest  in  the  particu- 
lar thing  said, — whereas,  it  is  probably  only  his  interest  in 
finding  himself  possessed  of  the  new  and  strange  power  of 
understanding  sounds.  The  mother  says,  "Where  's 
Father?"  "Where's  Father.^"  and  imagines  that  the 
child  is  pleased  with  the  m^mry,— whereas  it  is  only  pleas- 
ed that  that  sound, — "  Father,"— striking  upon  its  ear,  can 
produce  so  strange  an  effect,  as  to  call  up  to  its  conception 
a  faint  mental  image  of  the  man.  It  is  this  magic  power 
of  a  word  to  produce  a  new  and  peculiar  mental  state, 
which  is  probably  the  source  of  pleasure.  Hence  the  in- 
terest, which  the  little  auditor  will  take,  will  not  be  in  pro- 
portion to  the  connection,  or  the  point,  of  the  story;  but 


26^  THE   WAY   TO   DO    GOOD.  [Ch.  9. 

Stories  fbr  children.  Source  of  pleasure. 

to  the  frequency  of  the  worcls  contained  in  it  which  call  up 
familiar  and  vivid  ideas.  Thus  a  talk  like  this.  "Fire, 
fire;  pussy  runs;  tongs,  tongs  fall  down;  walk,  run;  Mary 
walk,  Mary  run," — will  be  listened  to  by  the  child,  who  is 
just  learning  to  listen  to  language,  with  as  much  pleasure, 
as  the  most  connected  or  pointed  little  story.  It  is  not, 
therefore,  what  is  understood,  but  the  mere  power  of  un- 
derstanding,— the  first  development  of  a  new  mental  facul- 
ty, which  pleases  the  possessor. 

The  reader  may,  perhaps,  think  at  first,  that  this  is 
rather  a  dim  distinction.  That  it  is,  however,  in  reality,  a 
broad  and  important  one  may  be  made  obvious,  thus.  Sup- 
pose we  should  suddenly  become  possessed  of  the  power 
of  understanding  the  language  of  signs,  used  by  the  deaf 
and  dumb,  and  should  meet  a  mute,  and  observe  him  talk- 
ing to  his  companion.  How  much  interest  we  should  take 
in  watching  his  gesticulations,  simply  from  the  pleasure 
which  the  first  exercise  of  the  new  power  of  understanding 
their  meaning  would  give.  It  would  be  of  no  consequence 
what  was  the  subject  of  the  conversation.  We  should  take 
as  great  an  interest  in  the  most  common  questions  and  re- 
plies, as  in  the  most  interesting  narrative ;  for  the  source 
of  our  enjoyment,  would  not  be  our  interest  in  what  was 
said, — but  the  pleasure  of  first  enjoying  the  power  of  un- 
derstanding this  new  mode  of  saying  it.  So  the  very  little 
child  is  pleased,  not  with  the  point  or  connectedness  of 
your  story,  but  by  the  strange  production  in  his  mind,  of 
conceptions  and  images  by  the  magic  influence  of  sounds, — 
conceptions  and  images,  which  heretofore  have  only  been 
produced,  by  the  actual  presence  of  their  prototypes. 

This  is  one  of  the  simplest  cases  of  the  pleasure  arising 
from  the  first  exercise  of  a  mental  power.  There  are  a 
thousand  others,  which  come  forth,  one  after  another,  all 
through  the  years  of  childhood  and  youth,  and  keep  the 
young  mind  supplied  with  new,  and  still  new  sources  of 
enjoyment.     The  amusements  of  children  almost  all  derive 


Ch.   9.]  CHILDREN.  269 

Love  of  employment.  An  offer  and  the  choice.       > 

their  charm  from  their  calling  into  exercise  these  dawning 
powers,  and  enabling  them  to  realize  their  possession. 
Digging  in  the  ground, — making  little  gardens,— dressing 
and  undressing  and  disciplining  a  doll, — playing  store,  and 
meeting,  and  company,  and  soldier, — and  a  thousand  other 
things,  call  into  play  the  memory,  the  imagination,  the  use 
of  the  limbs,  and  senses,  and  thus  exercise  all  the  powers 
which  have  not  yet  lost  their  novelty.  In  fact,  these  powers 
are  so  rapidly  progressive,  that  they  are  always  new. 

This  love  of  action  now, — this  pleasure  in  trying  the 
new  powers,  is  among  the  strongest  of  the  propensities  of 
childhood.  It  is  certainly  stronger  than  the  appetites.  At 
least,  my  observation  has  led  me  to  think  so,  and  to  put  the 
question  to  the  test,  in  one  case,  I  have  addressed  a  boy 
five  years  old,  at  least  as  great  a  lover  of  sugar,  and  sugar 
dogs,  as  other  boys  of  his  years,  who  has  come  into  my 
study,  while  I  am  penning  these  remarks,  thus  : 

*'  Suppose,  now,  I  should  tell  you,  that  you. might  either 
have  four  large  lumps  of  sugar,  or  go  and  get  some  sticks 
and  paper,  and  help  me  make  my  fire;  which  should  you 
rather  do?" 

*'  Why, — I  think  I  had  rather  help  you  make  the  fire." 

"Well,  suppose  I  should  tell  you,  I  was  going  to  cut 
some  paper  into  small  pieces,  and  do  up  a  little  of  my 
black  sand  in  each  piece;  and  that  you  might  have  your 
choice,  either  to  sit  up  to  the  table  and  help  me,  or  have  a 
large  piece  of  apple  pie,  or  three  sugar  dogs,  and  one 
handsome  sugar  rabbit  .''" 

The  countenance  of  the  child  showed  for  an  instant  that 
it  was  a  very  serious  question,  but  he  said, 

"  I  should  rather  help  do  up  the  sand, — if  there  are  scis- 
sors enough,"  glancing  an  eye  at  the  single  pair  of  slender 
paper  shears,  which  lay  upon  the  table. 

I  have  no  doubt  that  a  vast  majority  of  children,  from 
three  to  five  years  of  age,  would  answer  similar  questions 
in  a  similar  manner.  What  time  and  money  are  spent  in 
23* 


270  THE   WAY   TO   DO    GOOD.  [Cfl.  0. 

Counting.  Steps  minute  and  simple. 

sweetmeats  and  expensive  toys,  to  win  an  access  for  the 
donors  to  children's  hearts,  or  to  make  them  happy,  while 
all  the  time  the  path  to  childish  affection  and  enjoyment, 
lies  in  so  totally  different  a  direction  ! 

Any  one  who  will  make  childhood  a  study,  by  observing 
its  peculiarities,  and  making  experiments  upon  its  feelings 
and  tendencies,  will  find  innumerable  examples  of  the  grat- 
ification they  thus  derive  from  the  mere  exercise  of  their 
nascent  powers,  without  end  or  aim.  There  is  enumeration, 
for  example, — the  power  of  conceiving  of  numbers,  and 
their  relations  to  one  another.  You  may  try  this  experi- 
ment upon  it;  take  a  young  child,  from  three  to  four  years 
of  age,  just  old  enough  to  begin  to  count,  and  sit  up  with 
him  to  a  table  with  ten  wafers,  or  kernels  of  corn,  or  coffee, 
before  you.  Let  him  look  at  the  objects,  until  his  interest 
in  them,  simply  as  objects,  is  satisfied,  and  then  begin  to 
count  them  and  reckon  them  in  various  ways,  so  as  gently 
to  exercise  his  dawning  powers  of  calculation.  First  count 
them  all.  Then  count  two  of  them,  and  two  more,  and 
then  the  whole  four.     Go  on  perhaps  thus  : 

"There  is  one,  and  there  is  another,  that  makes  two; — 
now  there  is  another.  How  many  do  two  and  another^ 
counted  together,  make?  Let  us  see.  One,  two,  three. 
I'hrey  make  three.  Two  things,  and  then  another  thing 
put  with  them,  make  three  things. 

"  Now  we  will  put  them  in  a  row,  and  begin  at  this  end 
and  count  them.  It  makes  ten.  Now  we  will  begin  at  the 
other  end,  and  see  if  it  makes  the  same.  Yes,  it  makes 
ten.  It  is  the  same.  If  we  count  them  from  this  end  to 
that  it  makes  ten,  and  if  we  count  them  from  that  end  to 
this,  it  makes  ten.     Now  we  will  begin  in  the  middle,"  &c. 

I  give  this,  in  order  to  show  how  extremely  short  and 
simple  are  the  steps  which  must  be  taken,  in  order  to  ena- 
ble the  child  to  follow,  when  the  reckoning  powers  are  just 
beginning  to  be  formed.  Such  steps  may  be  indefinitely 
varied,  by  a  little  ingenuity,  while  the  mind  of  the  child  is 


Ch.  9.J  CttiLCftfiJ?. 


Make  work  for  children.  Second  principle. 

all  the  time  occupied  with  simply  reckoning  numbers,  i.  e. 
exercising  a  power  which  he  then,  almost  for  the  first  time, 
finds  that  he  possesses*  In  fact,  he  can  hardly  be  said  to 
have  possessed  it  before.  The  exercise  not  merely  calls 
them  into  play;  it  almost  calls  them  into  being.  Go  on, 
then,  with  the  work,  for  the  purpose  of  seeing  how  long  he 
will  continue  to  be  interested.  Unless  some  other  object 
of  excitement,  has,  at  the  time  of  the  experiment,  posses- 
sion of  his  mind,  your  patience  will  be  exhausted,  long 
before  he  will  be  ready  to  get  down. 

Such  examples  are  numberless.  In  fact,  let  an  intelli- 
gent observer,  when  he  sees  children  busily  engaged  in 
some  scheme  of  amusement  or  occupation,  pause  a  moment 
and  look  over  them,  and  ask  "What  now  is  the  secret  source 
of  pleasure  here  ?  What  constitutes  the  charm .''  What 
power  of  body  or  mind  is  it,  whose  exercise  here  gives  the 
enjoyment?"  Such  inquiries,  and  the  analysis  to  which 
they  lead,  will  give  one  a  deep  insight  in  the  character  and 
feelings  of  childhood,  and  the  great  springs  of  its  action. 
He  who  would  gain  an  ascendency  over  children  must  thus 
study  them,  and  aid  them  in  this  their  leading  desire 
Make  work  for  them, — lay  before  them  objects  and  occu- 
pations, which  shall  make  them  acquainted  with  their  pow- 
ers, by  calling  them  out  into  action;  and  lead  them  to  a 
mode  of  action,  which  will  not  interfere  with  the  comforts 
or  rights  of  others.  No  one  can  really  understand  children 
in  this  respect,  and  sympathize  with  them,  and  aid  them, 
without  finding  their  hearts  bound  soon  to  him,  by  the 
strongest  ties  of  gratitude  and  affection.  But  we  must 
pass  on  to  the  other  leading  principles  of  childhood,  above 
enumerated. 

2.  To  learn  all  they  can  about  the  world  into  which  they 
find  themselves  ushered. 

Next  to  their  desire  to  act,  their  strongest  impulse  is  a 
desire  to  know.  This,  like  the  other,  has  been  universally 
observed;  but,  like  the  other,  its  true  nature  is  not  very 


^*i^  THE    WAY   TO   DO    GOOD.  [Ch.  9» 

"  More  stories."  Subjects  for  talk.  Every  thing  new. 

exactly  understood.  It  is  not  so  much  a  desire  to  know 
what  is  remarkable  or  curious,  as  to  know  what  is;  it  is 
the  interest  of  knotoing,  rather  than  an  interest  in  the  ex- 
traordinariness  of  what  is  known.  With  them,  the  distinc- 
tion between  what  is  common  and  what  is  extraordinary  is 
lost,  or  rather  it  has  never  been  acquired.  All  things  are 
new  to  them,  and  consequently  if  you  tell  them  something, 
or  explain  to  them  something,  it  is  of  but  little  consequence 
what  it  is. 

"My  child  is  continually  asking  for  stories, — more  sto- 
ries,— until  my  powers  of  imagination  and  invention  are 
exhausted, — what  shall  I  do.''"  has  been  the  exclamation 
a  thousand  times.  It  shows  that  the  mother  who  makes  it, 
does  not  distinctly  understand  the  nature  of  the  intellectual 
want  which  she  is  called  upon  to  supply.  *'  Stories " 
mean  talk, — or  at  least,  any  talk  about  what  is  new,  will 
satisfy  the  appetite  for  stories.  Set  off,  then,  on  any  track, 
and  talk.  Suppose  you  could,  yourself,  meet  a  man  who 
had  been  in  the  moon,  and  he  should  sit  down  and  describe 
accurately  and  vividly  what  he  saw  there,  any  day; — how 
he  took  a  walk,  and  what  objects  he  saw,  and  what  incidents 
he  met  with;  or  suppose  he  should  describe  the  interior  of 
a  room, — any  room  whatever,  there, — the  furniture,  the 
instruments,  their  uses  and  construction ; — why,  there  would 
not  be  an  hour  of  his  residence  in  the  planet,  that  would 
not  afford  abundant  materials  for  a  conversation  to  which 
we  should  listen  with  the  deepest  interest  and  pleasure. 
Well,  now  we  must  remember  that  this  world  is  all  moon 
to  children,  and  we  can  scarcely  go  amiss  in  describing  it. 
There  is  no  hour  in  your  day,  and  no  object  you  see, 
which  is  not  full  of  subjects  of  interest  to  them. 

For  instance,  suppose  a  child  comes  to  his  mother's 
side  while  she  is  sitting  at  her  work,  and  wants  a  story 
She  casts  her  eyes  about  her  for  a  subject,  and  as  my  sand- 
box is  the  object  that  presents  itself  first  to  my  attention,  I 
will  suppose  it  to  be  the  one  that  arrests  hers.     "  Come," 


Ch.  9.]  CHILDREN.  273 

Tlie  sand-box.  Talk  about  it.  A  thousand  subjects. 

she  says,  "  I  will  tell  you  about  my  sand-box."  She  then 
shows  it  to  him,  unscrews  the  top,  points  out  the  various 
parts,  and  explains  them.  It  is  a  little  broader  at  the 
bottom  than  in  the  middle,  that  it  may  stand  steady, — and 
at  the  top,  that  it  may  receive  the  sand  easier  from  the 
paper.  She  shows  why  there  are  many  small  holes,  instead 
of  one  large  one, — what  the  sand  is  used  for, — how  it 
sticks  upon  the  wet  ink  and  not  upon  the  dry, — why  black, 
rather  than  white  sand  is  used,  and  why  the  box  is  formed 
into  a  sort  of  basin  at  the  top.  And  each  one  of  these 
particulars,  is  a  subject  of  itself,  as  copious  as  the  whole 
box  which  suggested  them.  The  first,  for  instance,  the 
broadness  of  the  bottom,  to  secure  steadiness  of  support, 
may  lead  to  other  similar  cases; — the  bottom  of  the  lamp, 
or  the  inkstand,  or  a  hundred  other  things  similarly  con- 
structed, and  the  principles  by  which  steadiness  is  given 
to  chairs,  tables,  &,c.  by  the  position  of  the  legs.  In  the 
same  manner,  each  of  the  other  parts  of  the  article  is,  of 
itself,  an  independent  topic. 

Thus  every  object  in  the  room  is  the  subject  for  a  lec- 
ture, or  a  story  of  half  an  hour.     A  pin,  a  wafer,  ^  key^  j,     J 
^a_stickof  wood, — there  is  nothing  which  is  not  full  of  inter-     ^ 
est  to  chiKfetijTf  yo^uwill  only  be  mmitfe  enough.     Take 
a^stick  of  wood.     Tell  how  the  tree  it  came  from,  sprung 
up  out   of  the  ground, — years  ago;    how  it  grew  every 
summer  by  the  sap ;  how  this  stick  was  first  a  little  bud, 
next  year  a  shoot,  and  by  and  by  a  strong  branch ;  how  a 
bird  perhaps  built  her  nest  on  it;  how  squirrels  ran  up  and 
down,  and  ants  crept  over  it;   how  the  woodman  cut  down 
the  tree,  &c.  Sec,  expanding  all  the   particulars  into  the 
most  minute  narrative.     It  is  surprising  that  any  mother 
can  ever  complain  that  she  Ts~ar"arToss"fbF  subjec^^^^  of 
conversation  with  her  child. 

For  T>e sides  this  whole  class  of  subjects, — i.  e.  descrip- 
tion"s^of  the  common  things  the  child  sees,  there  is  not  a 
h.al£^an  hour,  in  a  day,  whose  history  would  not  furnish  a 


274  THE    WAY    TO    DO    GOOD.  [Ch.  9. 

Describe  any   thing  to  children. 

highly jntejesting  narxativ^  to  a  i^hild.  Take,  for  instance, 
your  first  half  hour  in  the  morning;  how  the  room  looked 
when  you  awoke, — what  you  first  thought  of, — how  you 
proceeded  in  dressing, — the  little  difficulties  you  met  with, 
and  their  remedies;  what  you  first  saw  when  you  came 
down  stairs,  and  what  you  did, — when  you  first  met  your 
little  auditor, — what  you  thought,  and  did,  and  said.  The 
whole  would  naturally  suggest  and  include  much  which 
would  be  new  information  to  the  child;  although  this 
would  not  be  the  principal  source  of  its  interest.  The 
pleasure  which  the  hearer  would  derive  from  it,  is  the 
gratification  of  the  mysterious  appetite  of  the  human  mind 
for  language.  If  you  describe  nothing  which  the  child  did 
not  know  before,  he  still  enjoys  the  description.  Our 
readers  will  not  dispute  this,  if  they  call  to  mind  the  fact, 
that  the  most  interesting  passages  they  themselves  read  in 
books,  are  graphic  accounts  of  scenes  or  events  which 
they  have  witnessed  themselves.  The  charm  of  all  good 
description,  consists  in  its  presenting  to  the  reader,  in 
spirited,  graphic  language,  that  with  which,  as  a  reality, 
he  is  most  perfectly  familiar.  Hence  it  happens,  that  if 
we  take  up  a  traveller's  account  of  our  country,  we  turn 
first  to  read  the  description  which  he  has  given  of  our  own 
town;  partly,  perhaps,  from  curiosity  to  know  his  opinion 
of  us,  but  still,  in  a  great  degree,  for  the  simple  pleasure 
of  seeing,  through  the  medium  of  language,  that  with 
which  we  are  perfectly  familiar  by  the  eye. 

Our  object,  then,  in  talking  to  children,  is  not  to  find 
something  new,  and  strange,  and  wonderful.  We  have 
only  to  clothe  in  language,  such  conceptions  and  truths,  as 
they  can  understand,  without  racking  our  invention  to 
produce  continual  novelty.  Conversation  conducted  thus, 
though,  at  first  view,  it  might  seem  mere  amusement,  will 
be,  in  fact,  very  highly  useful.  The  child  will  rapidly  ac- 
quire familiarity  with  language  by  it,  which  is  one  of  the 
'most  important  acquisitions  he  can  make,     Then  you  will 


Ch.  9.]  CHILDREN.  275 

The  way  to  tell  stories.  A  specimen 

insensibly  say  a  great,  deal  which  will  be  new  to  your 
auditor,  though  it  may  seem  common  place  to  you;  and 
though  you  may  not  aim  always_at.mor4il  instruct  ion,  the 
narratives  and  descriptions  you  give,  will  spontaneously 
tEcke^from  your  own  mind,  a  moral  expression,  which  will 
have  great  influence  upon  his. 

Thus^yery  half  hour  of  the  day  will  furnish  abundant 
materials  for  a  long  narrative.  Any  walk  which  you  have 
taken,  or  piece  of  work  which  you  have  done,  or  any  plan 
that  you  have  in  mind,  if  properly  described,  will  abun- 
dantly feed  and  satisfy,  for  the  time  being,  your  child's 
desire  to  know;  for  you  must  always  remember  it  is  not 
necessary  that  what  you  say  should  be  particularly  inter- 
esting to  you,  in  order  to  interest  him. 

Or,  it  you  wish  occasionally  for  something  more  strictly 
a.  story,  set  off  at  once,  with  any  hero,  and  in  any  direc-' 
"itonj^ou  cannot  go  amiss.'  "*'  A  boy  once  thought  he 
would  go  out  and  take  a  walk,  so  he  put  on  his  hat,  and 
took  a  little  cane,  and  went  down  by  a  brook  behind  his 
father's  house."  Say  so  much  without  any  idea  of  what 
you  are  going  to  say  next,  and  give  the  reins  to  the  imagi- 
nation and  follow  on.  Do  not  task  your  powers  to  find 
something  new  and  strange;  every  thing  is  new  and 
strange  to  childhood.  You  may  therefore  save  yourself 
the  trouble  of  research,  and  take  what  comes.  Let  your 
hero  see  something  on  a  tree,  and  wonder  what  it  is,  and 
find  that  it  is  a  knot, — and  then  see  something  else,  and 
find  it  is  a  bird's  nest,  and  make  various  eflTorts  to  get  up 
to  it.  Let  him  meet  other  boys,  and  sit  down  on  a  log  to 
rest,  or  find  a  spring  of  water  and  try  various  ways  to 
drink,  or  throw  little  stones  into  a  brook,  the  size  and 
shape  of  each,  the  kind  of  place  they  fall  into,  and  the 
various  noises  made  by  them,  to  be  specified; — and  when 
you  are  tired  of  talking,  leave  your  hero  in  the  woods, 
with  the  promise  to  finish  the  account  of  his  adventures 
and  his  return,  the  next  time. 


276  THE   WAY    TO    DO    GOOD.  [Ch.   9. 

Subjects.  Fietion.  A  danger. 

A  walk  in  a  village,  an  imaginary  history  of  a  man's 
bringing  a  load  of  wood  to  market,  or  an  account  of  a  boy's 
making  a  collection  of  playthings  in  a  cabinet, — what  he 
had  and  how  he  arranged  them; — or  the  common  every 
day  adventures  of  a  cat  about  house,  now  sleeping  in  the 
corner,  now  watching  at  a  mouse's  hole  in  the  dark  cellar, 
and  now  ascending  to  the  house  top  and  walking  along  on 
the  edge  of  the  roof,  looking  down  to  the  boys  in  the  yard 
below.      I  mention  these,   not  to  propose  them,   particu- 
larly, but  to  show  how  wide  is  the  field,  and  how  endless 
the  number  and  the  variety  of  the  topics  which  are  open 
before  you.     I  ought  to  remark  here,  however,  that  the 
distinction  between  what  is  true,  and  what  is  only  imagina- 
ry in  its  details,  ought  to  be  clearly  explained  to  the  child, 
and  he  ought  to  know  when  you  are  narrating  real,  and 
when  fictitious  incidents. 
f      Parents  sometimes  entertain  some  fears  that  there  may 
be  danger  in  narrating  any  thing  to  children  which  is  not 
historically  true,  lest  it  should  lead  them  first  to  undervalue 
strict   truth,    and  finally  to   form  the    habit  of  falsehood 
These  fears  are  not  without  some  grounds, — for  it  does 
require  careful  watch  and  constant  effort,  in  any  case,  to 
form  and  preserve  a  habit  of  veracity,  in  children.    Wheth- 
er you  relate  fictitious  stories  to  them  or  notj  you  will  often 
find  in  them,  propensities  to  deceit  and  falsehood,  which  it 
will  sometimes  require  all  your  moral  power  to  withstand 
We  cannot,  therefore,  avoid  the  danger  of  children's  falling 
into  the  sin  of  falsehood.       The  only  question  is,  how  we 
can  most  advantageously  meet  and  overcome  it. 

Now  it  seems  to  me  that  we  cannot  most  easily  do  it,  by 
confounding  fictitious  narration  with  falsehood,  and  con- 
demning both.  For  no  one  pretends  that  the  narration  of 
fictitious  incidents,  is,  in  itself,  criminal.  It  is  objected  to, 
only,  as  having  a  tendency  to  lead  to  what  is  criminal;  the 
intention  to  deceive  being  essential  to  the  guilt  of  falsehood. 
The  question  is,  then,  where,  in  attempting  to  guard  chil- 


Cb.  9.]  GHILDREK.  2^7 

Is  fiction  allowable  at  all  ? 

dren  from  falsehood,  we  can  most  advantageously  take  our 
stand.  Shall  we  assume  the  position  that  all  narration  not 
historically  true,  is  wrong?  or  shall  we  show  them,  that 
intention  to  deceive  is  the  essence  of  the  guilt  of  false- 
hood, and  contend  only  against  that.  My  own  opinion  is, 
that  it  is  easier  and  better,  in  every  respect,  to  do  the  latter. 
If  the  distinction  you  make  with  them,  is  between  what  is 
historically  true  on  one  side,  and  all  that  is  imaginary  on 
the  other,  they  can  get  but  a  shadowy  idea  of  its  being 
really  a  distinction  between  right  and  wrong.  If,  however, 
you  bring  them  at  once  to  the  line  between  honesty  and 
deception,  they  can  see  easily  and  readily  that  you  have 
brought  them  to  the  boundaries  of  guilt.  In  maintaining 
this  distinction,  you  will  have  reason  and  conscience  clear- 
ly assenting,  and  here,  consequently,  you  can  raise  the 
strongest  fortification  against  sin.  On  the  other  hand,  if 
you  extend  your  lines  of  defence  so  as  to  include  what  you 
admit  is  not  wrong,  but  only  supposed  to  be  dangerous, 
you  extend  greatly  your  circle  of  defence,  you  increase 
the  difficulty  of  drawing  a  clear  line  of  demarcation,  and, 
notwithstanding  all  you  can  do  or  say,  your  theory  con- 
demns the  mode  of  instruction  adopted  by  the  Savior. 

We  may,  therefore,  indulge  the  imagination  freely  in 
children,  but  we  must  raise  an  impassable  wall,  on  the  first 
confinesj)f  Jwfenfio7i  to  deceive,  and  guard  it  with  the  great- 
est vigilance  and  decision. 

r*w^ouT3*7l!rerBfore,  for  example,  if  a  little  child  should 
ask  for  a  story,  say,  perhaps, 

"  Shall  I  tell  you  something  real  or  something  ima- 
ginary ?  " 

''  What  is  '  imaginary.?  '  " 

"Why,  if  I  should  make  up  a  story  about  a  squirrel 
named  Chipperee,  that  lived  in  the  woods,  and  tell  you 
what  he  did  all  day;  how  he  came  out  of  his  hole  in  the 
morning,  and  what  he  saw,  and  what  he  found  to  eat,  and 
what  other  squirrels  he  met;  and  about  his  going  down  to  a 
24 


278  THE   WAY   TO   DO   GOOD.  [Ch.  9. 


The  true  line  to  be  drawn. 


little  brook  to  drink,  and  carrying  home  nuts  for  the  winter, 
&c. — when  all  the  time,  there  never  was  any  such  squirrel, 
but  I  made  up  the  whole  story, — that  would  be  imaginary.' 

"But  father,  that  would  not  be  true.  Is  it  not  wrong 
to  say  any  thing  that  is  not  true?  " 

*'  No,  it  is  not  always  wrong  to  say  what  is  not  strictly 
true.  If  I  were  to  say  any  thing  that  was  not  true,  in 
order  to  deceive  you,  that  would  be  wrong.  For  example, 
if  I  had  some  bitter  medicine  to  give  you,  and  should 
cover  it  up  with  sugar,  and  tell  you  it  was  all  sweet  sugar, 
that  would  be  to  deceive  you,  and  that  would  be  wrong. 
But  if  I  imagine  a  story  about  a  squirrel,  just  to  amuse 
you,  and  teach  you  in  a  pleasanter  way  how  squirrels  live, 
— when  I  tell  you  plainly,  that  it  is  not  a  true  account  of 
any  particular  squirrel, — should  you  think  that  there  would 
be  any  thing  wrong  in  that?  " 

Thus  it  seems  that  in  this  case,  as  in  most  others,  it  will  be 
easiest,  safest,  and  most  expedient,  as  well  as  most  philoso- 
phical, to  draw  the  line  at  the  real  point  where  guilt  begins. 
Here  only,  is  there  a  tangible,  moral  distinction  which 
children  can  appreciate,  and  though  the  work  of  keeping 
them  off  of  the  forbidden  grounds  of  deception  and  false- 
hood, will  require,  in  any  case,  much  effort  and  care,  it 
seems  as  if  this  was  the  most  proper  place  to  take  the 
stand.  If,  however,  after  mature  reflection,  any  parents 
think  differently,  and  still  consider  all  fiction  dangerous, 
they  ought,  undoubtedly,  to  be  controlled  by  their  own 
conscientious  convictions,  and  abstain  from  it  altogether. 

We  have  mentioned  three  great  classes  of  subjects, 
which  may  supply  mothers  with  means  of  conversation 
with  their  children,  so  as  to  gratify  their  almost  insatiable 
appetite  for  knowledge.  We  have  gone  thus  fully  into 
this  part  of  the  subject,  on  account  of  the  universality  of 
the  complaint  on  the  part  of  those  who  have  the  care  of 
young  children,  that  they  do  not  know  what  to  tell  them. 
The  difficulty  arises  from  having  a  standard  too  high, — 


Ch.  9.]  CHILDREN.  279 

The  senses  the  avenue.  Example. 

striving  after  something  new  and  striking,  or  possessing 
peculiar  poetic  or  dramatic  interest,  and  forgetting  that 
every  thing  is  new  and  striking  to  children,  and  that,  con- 
sequently, there  is  scarcely  any  thing  which  can  be  seen, 
or  heard  of,  or  conceived,  which,  properly  expressed,  in 
language  suited  to  their  powers,  will  not  possess  a  charm. 

But  how  shall  it  be  expressed  in  proper  language.''  For 
having  thus  attempted  to  show,  to  those  interested  in 
children,  what  to  tell  them,  we  may  perhaps  devote  a  few 
paragraphs  to  considering  the  best  way  to  tell  it. 

(J^^^^_AdgyDBSs,  the  mind  of  the  child  through  ..the  senses,  t 
^^  .^^2l^:^^L&^S^.S^S:3)!!'i^3..J^tS^^  mind  by  which  the  im-  ^-^^ 
pressions  of  the  senses  are  recognised  or  recalled.  In 
oth'^words,  present  every  thing  in  such  a  way  that  it  may 
convey  vivid  pictures  to  the  mind.  The  senses  are  em- 
phaticdlyjhe_gre at  avenues  to  knowledge,  in  childhQtJTl, 
and  it  is  consequently  through  them  that  we  can  have  the 
ea'siest  access.  I  can  best  illustrate  what  I  mean,  by 
contrasting  two  ways  of  telling  the  same  story, 

"A  man  had  a  fine  dog,  and  he  was  very  fond  of  him.  He 
used  to  take  a  great  deal  of  care  of  him,  and  give  him  all 
he  wanted,  and,  in  fact,  he  did  all  he  could  to  make  him 
comfortable,  so  that  he  should  enjoy  a  happy  life.  Thus 
he  loved  his  dog  very  much,  and  took  great  pleasure  in 
seeing  him  comfortable  and  happy." 

This  now  presents  very  few  sensible  images  to  the  mind 
of  the  child.  In  the  following  form,  it  would  convey  the 
same  general  ideas,  but  far  more  distinctly  and  vividly 

"There  was  once  a  man  who  had  a  large,  black  and 
white  dog  beautifully  spotted.  He  made  a  little  house  for 
him  out  in  a  sunny  corner  of  the  yard,  and  used  to  give 
him  as  much  meat  as  he  wanted.  He  would  go  and  see 
him  sometimes,  and  pat  his  head,  while  he  was  lying  upon 
his  straw  in  his  little  house.     He  loved  his  dog." 


280  THE   WAY   TO   DO    GOOD.  [Ch.  9. 


Generalization  and  abstraction. 


No  one  at  all  acquainted  with  children  need  be  told  how 
much  stronger  an  interest  the  latter  style  of  narration 
would  excite.  And  the  difference  is,  in  a  philosophical 
point  of  view,  that  the  former  is  expressed  in  abstract  terms, 
which  the  mind  comes  to  appreciate  fully,  only  after  long 
habits  of  generalization;  in  the  latter,  the  meaning  comes 
through  sensible  images,  which  the  child  can  picture  to 
himself  with  ease  and  pleasure,  by  means  of  those  faculties 
of  the  mind,  whatever  they  may  be,  by  which  the  images 
presented  by  the  senses,  are  perceived,  at  first,  and  after- 
wards renewed  through  the  magical  stimulus  of  language. 
This  is  the  key  to  one  of  the  great  secrets  of  interesting 
children,  and  in  teaching  the  young  generally.  Approach 
their  minds  through  the  senses,  JPescribe  everything  as 
it  presents  itself  to  th^  eye  and  to  the  ear.  ^different 
course  is,  indeed,  often  wise ;  as  for  example,  when  you 
wish  to  exercise  and  develope  the  power  of  generalization 
and  abstraction, — but  generally,  when  your  wish  is  merely 
to  interest,  or  to  convey  knowledge;  i.  e.  where  you  wish 
to  gain  the  readiest  and  most  complete  access  to  the  heart, 
these  are  the  doors.  You  use  others  after  a  time,  occa- 
sionally, for  the  sake  mainly  of  having  them  opened  and 
in  use. 

The  intelligent  reader  will  be  able  to  apply  this  rule  to 
all  the  classes  of  subjects  mentioned  under  the  preceding 
head,  and  will  see  at  once  how  much  additional  interest 
may  be  thrown  over  the  conversations  and  narratives 
described,  by  following  this  rule.  We  might  well  follow 
out  the  principle,  and  its  illustration  and  application  to  the 
various  stages  of  childhood  and  youth,  and  the  proper 
limits  of  it;  for  its  limits  must  be  observed^  or  else  we  shall 
make  the  pupil  the  helpless  dependent  upon  his  senses,  for 
life.  There  is,  however,  little  danger  of  passing  these 
limits  in  early  years.  The  great  difficulty  with  instructions 
and  addresses  to  childhood,  and  the  books  written  for  them, 
is  not  want  of  simplicity,  as  is  commonly  supposed,  but 


Ch.  9.]  CHILDREN.  281 

Minute  details.  An  example.  The  boat. 

generality, — abstractness, — a  mode  of  exhibiting  a  subject 
or  attain  of  thought,  which  presents  no  distinct  conceptions 
to  a  mind  which  is  unaccustomed  to  any  elements  of 
thought  which  have  not  form  or  color.  So  that  that  which 
is  precise,  and  striking,  and  clear  to  the  mind  of  the 
speaker,  is  vague,  and  undefined,  and  inappreciable  to  the 
unformed  minds  to  which  it  is  addressed.  But  we  must 
pass  on.      ^ 

(2.)  Be( exceedingly  minute  in  thg . detaUajaf,  what  you 
descxihe^-JCake  yery  short  steps,  and  take  each  one  very 
distinctly.  If,  for  instance,  you  are  narrating  to  a  man, 
you  may  simply  say,  if  such  an  incident  occurs  in  the 
course  of  the  narrative, — that  your  hero  "went  down  to 
the  shore  and  got  into  a  boat  and  pushed  off."  Your 
hearer  has  probably  got  into  a  boat  often  enough  to  under- 
stand it.  But  if  you  are  talking  to  a  child,  he  will  be  more 
interested  if  you  say,  "he  went  down  to  the  shore  and 
found  a  boat  there.  One  end  of  the  boat,  the  front  part, 
which  they  call  the  bows,  was  up  against  the  shore,  a 
little  in  the  sand.  The  other  end  was  out  on  the  water,  and 
moved  up  and  down  gently  with  the  waves.  There  were 
seats  across  the  boat,  and  two  oars  lying  along  upon  the 
seats.  The  man  stepped  upon  the  bows  of  the  boat.  It 
was  fast  in  the  sand,  so  that  it  did  not  sink  under  him. 
Then  he  took  up  one  of  the  oars  and  began  to  push  against 
the  shore  to  push  himself  off.  But  as  he  was  standing 
upon  the  bows,  his  weight  pressed  the  bows  down  hard 
upon  the  sand,  and  so  he  could  not  push  the  boat  off. 
Then  he  went  to  the  other  end  of  the  boat,  g  tepping  over 
the  seats.  The  other  end  of  the  boat  is  the  stern.  The 
stern  sank  a  little,  and  the  boat  rocked  from  one  side  to 
the  other,  and  made  the  oar  which  was  on  the  seats  rattle. 
There  was  nothing  but  water  under  the  stern  of  the  boat, 
and  that  was  what  made  it  unsteady.  The  man  stepped 
carefully,  and  when  he  was  fairly  in  the  stern,  he  reached 
his  oar  out  again,  and  now  he  could  push  it  off  The  bows 
24* 


282  THE    WAY   TO    DO   GOOD.  [Ch.  9. 

Explain  minutely.  The  black  sand< 

rubbed  slowly  back,  off  of  the  sand,  and  in  a  minute  the 
whole  boat  was  floating  on  the  water." 

We  have  given  this  thus  minutely,  to  show  what  almost 
infinite  expansion  the  most  common  incidents,  which  are 
passed  over  usually  by  a  word,  in  narratives  addressed  to 
men,  are  capable  of,  when  described  to  children.  And  it 
is  in  this  minute  and  particular  way  that  they  wish  to  have 
every  thing  detailed  which  they  have  not  become  absolutely 
familiar  with.  In  fact,  in  writing,  even,  for  the  mature,  the 
success  of  the  composition  depends  much  upon  the  degree 
of  fidelity  with  which  those  most  minute  circumstances 
which  give  to  any  scene  its  expression,  are  described  to 
the  mind.  But  in  addressing  children,  this  is  altogether 
more  necessary.  For  the  complicated  steps  with  which 
long  acquaintance  with  the  world  have  familiarized  men, 
so  as  to  make  them  the  simple  elements  of  higher  combina- 
tions, retain  with  children  all  their  original  complrcateness, 
and  must  be  expanded  and  exhibited  in  minute  detail.  It 
would  be  well,  for  example,  wh^n  talking  of  the  sand-box, 
in  addressing  men,  to  say,  "  The  sand  is  black  rather  than 
white,  that  it  may  correspond  in  color  with  the  ink  that  it 
covers,  and  preserve  a  contrast  with  the  paper."  This 
would  not  do  for  a  child.  *'No:  the  words  would  not  be 
understood,"  you  say.  True,  but  if  we  alter  the  words  it 
would  then  not  be  much  better.  Thus,  "  It  is  black  rather 
than  white,  that  it  may  be  like  the  ink,  and  different  from 
the  paper."  A  boy  four  or  five  years  old,  in  hearing  that, 
will  probably  ask  why  you  want  the  sand  different  from  the 
paper,  or  else  pause  and  reflect,  trying  to  take,  liimself, 
the  intermediate  mental  steps  necessary  to  a  full  under- 
standing of  the  explanation.  The  reason  given  to  him  in 
fu^l  would  be,  ''Suppose  the  sand  was  white,  like  flour, 
and  we  pour  it  on.  It  would  stick  on  the  letters  when  the 
ink  was  wet  and  make  them  look  white.  Now  the  paper  is 
whit>  too,  and  you  would  hardly  see  that  there  were  any 
letters  there.     But  by  having  the  sand  black,  the  letters 


Ch.  9.]  CHILDREN.  28:3 

Style  abrupt.  Tones.  Gesticulations. 

continue  to  look  black  after  the  sand  is  on  them,  and  of 
course  are  plainly  to  be  seen  on  the  white  paper."  This, 
which  would  be  a  tedious  explanation  to  a  man,  even  if  he 
had  never  heard  of  sand, — would  be  just  satisfactory  to  a 
small  boy. 

Thus,  every  thing  should  be  related  and  explained 
minutely;  and  any  persons  who  will  pause  a  little  upon  this 
principle,  and  consider  it  in  its  application  to  common  sub- 
jects and  to  the  common  conversation  they  hold  with  chil- 
dren,— they  will  see  that  every  event,  every  incident,  every 
fact,  every  phenomenon,  however  common,  and  every 
object  of  sight  or  hearing  is  connected  with  a  thousand 
associations  and  trains  of  thought,  which  may  thus  be  ex- 
panded,— and  they  will  wonder  that  they  could  ever  be  at 
a  loss  for  materials  for  conversation. 

(3.)  Let  your  style  be  abrupt  and  striking,  and  give  the 
reins  entirely  to  the  imagination.  Aim  at  the  utmost  free- 
dom of  form  and  manner,  and  let  your  tones  and  inflexions 
be  highly  varied.  The  tones  expressive  of  emotion  are 
instinctive,  not  acquired;  as  is  proved  by  their  universal 
similarity  among  all  nations,  and  by  the  fact  that  children 
have  them  in  greater,  not  less  perfection  than  men.  The 
style,  too,  should  be  abrupt  and  pointed,  and  every  thing 
illustrated  with  action.  At  least,  this  is  one  element  of 
interest  to  be  used  in  a  greater  or  less  degree  at  discretion. 
We  find  that  we  are  dwelling  too  much  on  these  details 
and  must  hasten  forward,  though  this  particular  topic  might 
well  occupy  a  dozen  pages.  We  will,  however,  take  one 
example.  It  may  be  our  old  story  of  the  man  who  was 
kind  to  his  dog.  We  have  given  two  modes  of  commenc- 
ing it,  the  second  adding  very  much  to  the  interest  which 
the  child  would  take  in  it.  But  by  our  present  rule  of 
giving  abruptness  and  point,  and  striking  transition  to  the 
style,  we  can  give  it  a  still  greater  power.  Suppose  the 
narrator,  with  a  child  on  each  knee,  begins  thus, 

"A  man  one  i;lea5ant  morning  v/as   standing  upon  the 


*3^ 


284  THE    WAY  TO    DO    GOOD.  [Ch.   9. 


The  man  and  his  dog  again. 


steps  of  his  door,  and  he  said,  *  I  think  I  will  go  and  see 
my  dog  Towser.'  " 

"  Now,  where  do  you  think  his  dog  Towser  lived?  " 

*'  I  don  't  know,"  will  be  the  reply  of  each  listener,  with 
a  face  full  of  curiosity  and  interest. 

**Why  old  Towser  was  out  in  a  little  square  house 
which  his  master  had  made  for  him  in  a  corner  of  the  yard. 
So  he  took  some  meat  in  his  hand  for  Towser's  breakfast. 
Do  you  think  he  took  out  a  plate,  and  a  knife  and  fork? 

"This  man  was  very  kind  to  Towser;  his  beautiful, 
spotted,  black  and  white  Towser; — and  when  he  got  to  his 
house  he  opened  the  door  and  said, 

"  'Towser,  Towser, — come  out  here  Towser.' 

''  So  Towser  came  running  out,  and  stood  there  wagging 
his  tail.  His  master  patted  him  on  the  head.  You  may 
jump  down  on  your  hands  and  feet  and  I  will  tell  you  ex- 
actly how  it  was.  You  shall  be  Towser.  Here,  you  may 
get  under  the  table  which  will  do  for  his  house.  Then  I 
will  come  and  call  you  out  and  pat  you  on  the  head;  " 
&c.  &c. 

We  go  into  these  minute  details  with  no  little  hesita- 
tion, as  some  of  our  readers  may  perhaps  consider  them 
beneath  the  dignity  of  a  moral  treatise.  But  when,  as  we 
have  occasionally  paused,  on  this  account,  while  penning 
the  preceding  paragraphs,  and  hesitated  whether  it  was 
best  to  proceed,  we  have  thought  how  many  children  there 
are  to  be  made  happy  through  these  simple  principles, — 
and  how  many  mothers  there  are,  and  older  brothers  and 
sisters,  who,  never  having  philosophiz^ed  upon  the  subject, 
may  be  considerably  aided  by  these  suggestions,  obvious 
as  they  may  be, — and  how  many,  many  hours  of  inter- 
course between  parent  and  child,  may  be  changed  from 
times  of  weariness  and  tedium,  to  those  of  profit  and  plea- 
sure, by  a  knowledge  of  these  simple  avenues  to  the  child- 
ish heart, — we  have  taken  courage  and  gone  on.  To  know 
how  to  make  a  single  child  happy  for  half  an  hour  is  indeed 


Ch.  9.]  CHILDREN.  .      285 

Third  characteristic  of  childhood. 

a  little  thing;  but  the  knowledge  acquires  importance  and 
dignity,  when  we  consider  how  many  millions  of  children 
there  are  to  be  affected  by  it, — and  how  many  half  hours 
in  the  life  of  each,  may  be  rescued  by  these  means,  from 
listless  uneasiness,  and  given  to  improvement  and  happi- 
ness. Thus  the  objects  though  comparatively  trifling,  when 
regarded  in  severalty  and  detail,  rise  to  dignity  and  impor- 
tance, when  we  consider  their  vast  aggregation.  But  to 
return. 


An  abrupt  and  pointed  style,  and  varied  modes  of  illus- 
traiyon  mingle d^^^  w^^^^  spirit  and  interest, 

even  to  many  moral  instructions.  But  we  must  not  dwell 
^iTtFis  point;  arid  we  pass  oh  to  the  third  great  character- 
istic of  childhood.  The  reader  will,  we  hope,  keep  in 
mind  the  plan  of  our  discussion.  We  are  considering 
some  of  the  great  characteristics  of  childhood,  preparatory 
to  some  practical  directions  for  gaining,  through  them,  an 
access  to  the  heart;  and  having  examined,  1.  Love  of 
action,  and  2.  Love  of  acquiring  knowledge,  we  now  pass 
to  the  third,  viz. 

3.  Affection  for  those  from  whom  they  receive  aid  and 
sympathy  in  their  desires.  Gratitude  in  the  young  par- 
takes of  the  general  childishness  of  their  character;  and  it 
is  not,  perhaps,  very  surprising,  that  it  should  be  most 
strongly  awakened  by  such  kindness  as  they  can  most 
sensibly  appreciate. 

In  fact,  the  conditions  of  affection  on  the  part  of  chil- 
dren seem  to  be  two.  The  first  is,  that  the  kindness  in- 
tended to  awaken  it  should  be  on  their  level,  as  it  were, — 
i,  e.  that  it  should  show  itself  in  favors  which  they  can  un- 
derstand and  appreciate.  If  in  a  case  of  dangerous  sick- 
ness, an  aunt  comes  and  watches  ov€r  the  child  day  after 
day,  and  by  means  of  this  incessant  watchfulness  and  care, 
preserves  his  life,  maintaining,  however,  during  his  sick- 
ness  and  convalescence,  a   cold    and   reserved  look  and 


S86  THE    WAY    TO    DO    GOOD.  [Ch.  9. 

Conditions  of  gratitude. 

demeanor, — there  will  be  but  a  slight  awakening  of  grati- 
tude and  affection  in  the  heart  of  the  patient.  He  sees  his 
indefatigable  nurse  moving  in  a  region  of  thought  and 
feeling  which  is  far  away  from  him,  and  inapproachable. 
She  does  not  come  near  to  him,  and  he  cannot  go  near  to 
her.  Under  these  circumstances,  it  is  impossible  for  him 
to  realize  that  the  unwearied  care  which  he  sees  bestowed 
upon  him,  can  arise  from  affection  to  him  personally.  He 
considers  it  as  a  sort  of  thing  of  course,  and  it  awakens 
little  gratitude  or  affection. 

This  tendency  in  the  heart  of  a  child,  is  in  perfect  keep- 
ing with  the  general  laws  of  human  nature  in  respect  to 
gratitude  and  love.  For  these  feelings  are  awakened,  not 
by  the  deeds  of  kindness  which  we  experience  from  others, 
but  by  the  feelings  of  kindness  of  which  we  consider  the 
deeds  an  indication.  It  is  a  sympathetic  action  of  heart 
ypon  heart,  through  actions,  or  words,  or  looks,  as  the 
medium;  and  consequently  the  effect  is  not  in  proportion 
to  the  greatness  of  the  favors,  but  to  the  distinctness  with 
which  they  conduct  the  mind  of  the  receiver  to  the  love 
which  originated  them.  Hence  it  is,  that  unless  the  kind- 
ness you  render  to  children  is  such  as  they  can  fully  ap- 
preciate, it  will  not  produce  its  proper  effects;  but  if  it  is 
such  as  they  can  appreciate,  i.  e.  if  it  is  within  their 
sphere,  it  will  produce  these  effects.  Many  persons  are 
often  surprised  to  see  how  easily  some  of  their  acquaint- 
ances will  gain  the  affection  of  children,  and  acquire  an 
ascendency  over  them.  But  this  is  the  secret  of  it.  They 
come  down, — I  do  not  mean  in  the  actions  and  demeanor, 
but  in  the  nature  of  the  favors  they  show  to  them, — to 
their  level.  They  excite  or  employ  their  mental  powers; 
they  speak  a  kind  word  indicating  interest  in  their  plays 
or  pursuits;  they  aid  them  in  their  own  little  schemes,  or 
at  least  regard  them  with  looks  and  words  of  kindness. 
These  are  indications  of  a  feeling  of  kindness  which  the 
child  can  understand;    and  as  we  have  before  seen,  it  is  in 


Ch.  9.]  CHILDREN.  237 


The  way  to  a  child's  heart. 


proportion  to  the  distinctness  with  which  the  feeling  of 
kindness  is  perceived  in  one  heart,  that  gratitude  and 
affection  are  awakened  in  another. 

The  second  condition  on  which  the  affection  and  grati- 
tude of  children  is  to  be  secured,  is,  that  the  favors  which 
call  for  it  should  be  sincere;    or  at  least  that  the   child 
should  have  sufficient  evidence  of  sincerity.     A  splendid 
toy,  however  adapted  to  interest  the  child,  if  sent  to  him 
by  a  relative  or  an  acquaintance  of  his  parents,  who  really 
cares  little  about  him,  will  be  received  with  selfish  gratifi- 
cation perhaps,  but  with  little  gratitude  towards  the  donor. 
In  fact,  this  condition  stands  on  the  same  foundation  with 
the  other.    The  child  must  see,  through  the  favor  bestowed, 
a  feeling  of  real  kindness  in  the  one  who  bestowed  it, — for 
it  is  this  emotion  in  one  heart,  which,  by  a  kind  of  sympa- 
thy, awakens  the  corresponding  emotion  in  another.     The 
present  or  the  favor,  aids  only  as  the  medium  by  which  the 
inter-communication   is   made,   and  if  the  feeling  is  seen 
without  it,  it   will  produce  its  effects.     Thus  one  person 
may  make  the  most  valuable  and  costly  presents  to   two 
children,  and  another  will  produce  a  stronger  impression 
upon  their  hearts,  and  awaken  a  more  friendly  feeling,  and 
connect  himself  with  them  by  more  pleasant  and  permanent 
associations  by  the  mere  manner  in  which   he   looks   at 
them,  as  he  passes  by,  while  they  are  playing  in  the  street. 
4.  The  fourth  great  characteristic  of  children   is  their 
disposition  to  catch  the  spirit,  and  imitate  the  actions  of 
those  whom  they  thus  love.     Probably  this    imitative  or 
rather  sympathetic   principle,  has  more  influence    in   the 
formation  of  early  character,  than  any  other;  nay,  perhaps, 
than  all  others  conjoined.     Associations  and  sympathy  have 
far  more  influence  with  children,  than  argument  or  reason- 
ing.    Or  rather,  we  might   almost  say,   associations    and 
sympathy  have  all  the  influence,  and  argument  none  at  all. 
How  often  do  parents  attempt  to  reason  with  children  in 
respect  to  some  duty  or  command,  by  way  of  facilitating 


288  THE    WAY    TO   DO    GOOD.  [Ch.    9. 

Reasoning  with  children.  The  baby's  name. 

the  performance,  whereas  the  effect  is  directly  the  reverse. 
The  discussion  unsettles  the  subject,  throws  a  doubt  about 
the  duty,  for  all  argumeat  of  course,  presupposes  a  ques- 
tion in  respect  to  the  subject  of  it.  It  therefore  almost 
always  makes  it  harder  for  the  child  to  obey,  than  it  was 
before.  Reasoning  upon  the  general  principles  of  duty,  at 
proper  times,  when  the  mind  of  the  pupil  is  in  a  state  of 
repose,  is  highly  important  as  a  branch  of  instruction,  as 
will  hereafter  more  fully  be  shown.  But  after  all  it  has 
comparatively  little  effect  upon  the  formation  of  the  habits 
and  character.  The  cause  of  this  is  that  the  powers  of 
ratiocination  are  among  the  last  that  are  developed, — cer- 
tainly among  the  last  to  come  in  for  a  share  in  the  govern- 
ment of  the  conduct  and  character.  If  the  reader  has  the 
disposition  and  the  skill  to  experiment  a  little  upon  child- 
hood in  this  respect,  he  will  be  astonished  to  find  how 
feeble  and  unformed  are  the  powers  necessary  for  per- 
ceiving a  logical  sequence,  and  how  entirely  a  pleasant 
association  will  usurp  the  place  and  exercise  the  control  be- 
longing legitimately  to  sound  deduction.  Hence  the  nu- 
merous prejudices  and  prepossessions  of  childhood, — as  for 
instance,  the  preference  for  the  small  silver  coin  over  the 
large  bank  note;  argument  and  explanation  being  often 
entirely  insufficient  to  overcome  the  associations  of  value 
connected  with  the  appearance  of  the  former. 

On  a  question  of  a  name  for  an  infant  brother,  a  boy 
three  or  four  years  old,  expressed  and  persisted  in  a  pre- 
ference for  George  over  Francis,  which  was  generally 
voted  for  by  the  family.  To  see  how  great  and  unques- 
tioned the  control  of  mere  association  might  be,  in  his 
mind,  I  said  to  him, 

•'If  his  name  is  Francis,  you  can,  by  and  by,  when  he 
grows  up,  say,  '  Mother,  may  I  take  Francis  out  to  ride? ' 
and  mother  will  say,  'Yes.'  Then  you  can  take  Francis 
up  and  carry  him  out  and  put  him  in  your  little  wagon,  and 
take  hold  of  the  handle,  and  then  say,  '  Francis?  are  you 


Ch.  9.]  CHILDREN.  289 

The  logic  of  childhood.  Power  of  association. 


all  ready.'"  and  Francis  will  say*  Yes.'  Then  you  can 
draw  him  about  a  little  way,  and  after  a  little  while  bring 
him  back  and  say,  'Here,  mother,  I  have  brought  Francis 
back  safe.' — Do  you  not  think,  then,  that  his  name  had 
better  be  Francis }  " 

*' Yes,  I  do,"  said  he,  cordially;  convinced  and  con- 
verted completely,  by  this  precious  specimen  of  logic. 

Thus  the  reader  will  find,  on  scrutinizing  the  conduct 
of  children,  that  pleasant  associations  have  more  influence 
in  determining  their  preferences  and  habits,  moral,  intel- 
lectual and  physical,  than  almost  all  others.  The  reason- 
ing powers  ought  to  be  cultivated,  and  to  cultivate  them 
successfully,  children  must  be  led  to  employ  them  on  the 
various  subjects  which  daily  come  before  them;  but  while 
this  process  is  going  on,  we  must  take  care  that  the  other 
great  avenue  to  the  soul,  which  is  opened  so  early,  and 
which  affords  so  easy  an  access,  should  be  occupied  well. 

If,  then,  in  accordance  with  the  previous  heads  of 
this  discussion,  you  take  such  an  interest  in  the  children 
around  you,  as  to  secure  their  gratitude  and  love,  you 
have  formed  in  their  minds  strong,  pleasant  associations 
with  your  character,  and  conduct,  and  feelings,  whatever 
they  may  be.  You  will  find,  consequently,  that  you  will 
have  an  immense  ascendency  over  them.  They  will  think 
as  you  think,  and  feel  as  you  feel.  They  will  catch  your 
expressions,  and  the  tone  of  your  voice;  your  looks,  your 
attitudes;  your  habits  and  peculiarities,  good  and  bad, — 
the  very  same  things,  which,  if  they  disliked  you,  they 
would  mimic  and  ridicule.  So  that  he  who  associates 
freely  with  children,  and  by  his  sympathy  and  regard  for 
them,  acquires  their  love,  will  leave  an  impress  of  his 
own  character  upon  theirs,  which  all  the  years  of  after  life 
will  never  remove.  This  will  be  more  peculiarly  the  case 
with  those  higher  sentiments,  and  opinions,  and  principles 
of  action,  which  are  formed  in  the  more  advanced  years  of 
youth; — they  are  caught  by  sympathy  from  the  mind  and 
25 


290  THE    WAY    TO    DO    GOOD.  [Ch.  9. 

Common  failure.  The  fether.  Power  of  affection. 

heart  of  some  friend  whom  the  pupil  loves.  Judicious 
reasoning  may  help  to  give  permanence  to  their  throne, 
but  its  foundation  is  in  this  sympathetic  influence,  which 
argument  will  be  utterly  insufficient  to  withstand.  In  the 
same  manner  bad  principles,  bad  sentiments  and  feelings 
are  communicated  to  the  youthful  heart,— not  mainly  by 
sophistical  reasonings,  nor  by  formal  efforts  on  the  part  of 
the  corrupt  to  instruct  their  pupils  in  the  principles  of 
depravity.  False  reasoning  and  deliberate  attempts  to 
corrupt  are  undoubtedly  often  employed  with  fatal  effect, 
but  the  great  prevailing  principle  of  the  spread  of  vice  is 
moral  contagion; — the  production  of  a  diseased  moral  state 
in  one,  by  the  proximity  of  its  like  in  another. 

Here  is  the  failure  of  many  parents.  They  stand  aloof 
from  their  children,  occupied  by  business  and  cares,  or 
else  having  no  sympathy  with  their  peculiar  feelings  and 
childlike  propensities.  The  heart  of  the  father,  therefore, 
does  not  keep  so  near  to  that  of  the  child,  that  there  may 
be  communicated  to  the  one  the  healthy,  virtuous  action 
of  the  other.  This  place  of  influence  is  left  to  be  taken 
possession  of  by  any  body, — a  servant,  a  neighbor,  or  a 
hnv  in  the  streets, — and  the  father  aims  at  forming  the 
cnaracier  of  his  son,  by  addressing  to  him  from  time  to  time, 
as  his  occupations  may  give  him  opportunity,  plenty  of  sound 
argument  and  good  advice!  The  boy  receives  them  in 
silence,  and  the  father  hopes  that  they  produce  an  impres- 
sion. The  downward  progress  which  his  heart  is  making, 
by  his  intimacy  with  sin,  is  not  perceived,  but  at  last,  when 
he  is  twenty,  it  can  be  no  longer  concealed,  and  the 
father  perceives  to  his  astonishment  that  all  his  good  in- 
structions have  been  utterly  thiiown  away.  It  is  the  as- 
cendency of  affection,  and  that  founded  on  such  evidences 
of  interest  and  good  will,  as  the  child  can  himself  appreci- 
ate, which  will  alone  give  us  any  considerable  power;  and 
if  we  secure  the  affection  we  shall  inevitably  wield  the 
power. 


Ch.  9.]  CHILDREN.  291 


Practical  directions-  The  field.  Influence  to  be  sought. 

Having  thus  considered  the  first  general  division  of  this 
chapter  according  to  our  plan,  we  pass  to  the  second. 


II.       PRACTICAL     DIRECTIONS. 

1.  It  will  be  well  for  the  reader,  if  he  desires  to  accom- 
plish as  much  as  he  may,  through  his  influence  over  the 
young,  to  explore  the  ground  first,  distinctly,  that  is,  to  look 
around  him,  and  call  to  mind  distinctly,  the  youthful  indi- 
viduals over  whom  he  must  or  can  exert  an  influence.  In 
fact,  we  should  often  do  this  in  our  hours  of  meditation, 
when  looking  over  our  plans  of  usefulness  and  the  manner 
in  which  we  are  carrying  them  forward.  By  this  means, 
we  shall  keep  before  our  minds  a  distinct  idea  of  the  extent 
and  boundaries  of  our  field,  and  preserve  a  more  steady 
interest  in  it.  A  general  survey  like  this,  of  what  we  have 
to  do,  is,  in  all  departments  of  duty,  necessary,  in  order 
to  give  system,  and  steadiness,  and  thoroughness  to  our 
work. 

2.  Make  it  a  special  object  of  attention  and  effort,  to 
gain  such  an  influence  and  ascendency  as  has  been  al- 
ready described,  over  the  minds  of  the  children  whom  you 
shall  find  thus  within  your  reach;  the  influence  of  interest 
and  attachment.  Parents  often  pay  too  little  attention  to 
this.  Their  intercourse  with  children  is  only  the  necessary 
intercourse  of  command  and  obedience.  A  father  who 
devotes  some  time  daily,  to  interesting  himself  in  the 
pursuits  and  pleasures  of  his  children,  talking  with  them, 
playing  with  them,  or  reading  or  telling,  them  stories,  will 
gain  an  ascendency  over  them,  which,  as  they  grow  up, 
will  be  found  to  be  immensely  powerful.  They  are  bound 
together  by  common  feelings,  by  ties  of  affection  and 
companionship,  which  have  a  most  controlling  moral  in- 
fluence upon  the  heart.  It  is,  however,  often  neglected. 
The  man  overwhelmed  with  business,  or  burdened  with 
cares,  does  not  descend  to  the  level  of  the  child.     He  sees 


292                                    THE   WAY    TO    DO    GOOD. 

[Ch.  9. 

The  parent  disappointed. 

Brothers  and  sisters. 

that  his  hoys  are  trained  up  according  to  rule,  confined 
by  proper  restraints,  and  supplied  with  proper  instruc- 
tion;— but  no  strong  ties  of  interest  or  affection,  recon- 
cile the  little  pupil  to  the  restraints,  or  give  allurement 
to  the  instruction;  and  at  length,  when  he  is  passing  from 
twelve  to  fifteen,  or  from  fifteen  to  twenty,  the  parent 
gi-adually  finds,  as  we  have  before  explained,  that  though 
all  has  been  to  his  eye  right,  his  child  has  been,  in  heart 
and  inward  character,  going  on  in  a  course,  totally  differ- 
ent from  the  one  he  intended.  The  alarmed  and  disap- 
pointed parent  tries  to  bring  back  his  son, — but  he  finds,  to 
his  surprise  and  sorrow,  that  he  has  no  hold  upon  him. 
They  are,  in  heart,  strangers  to  each  other.  Though  they 
have  breakfasted,  dined,  and  supped  together,  for  fifteen 
years,  they  have  been,  in  fact,  strangers  to  each  other,  all 
the  time.  They  have  moved  in  different  circles, — have 
had  difl^erent  pleasures,  different  pains,  different  hopes,  and 
different  fears.  The  son  could  not  ascend  to  the  region 
occupied  by  the  father,  and  the  father  would  not  descend 
to  that  of  the  son.  Thus  they  have  been  sundered,  and 
the  father  finds  that  he  has  no  hold  over  the  heart  of  his 
child,  only,  when  it  is  too  late  to  acquire  it. 

But  perhaps  you  are  not  a  parent.  You  are  an  older 
brother  or  sister,  still,  yourself,  under  your  father's  roof. 
If  now,  you  really  wish  to  do  good,  your  most  important 
sphere  of  duty  is  that  little  circle  of  children,  who,  next  to 
their  parents,  look  up  to  you.  In  this  case,  it  should  be 
your  first  concern  to  gain  an  ascendency  over  their  minds; 
— an  ascendency  based  on  their  regard  for  your  moral 
worth,  and  an  affection  inspired  by  your  kindness  and 
interest  in  them. 

In  the  same  manner,  whatever  may  be  your  connection 
with  children,  whether  you  are  their  teacher  in  a  common 
or  a  Sabbath  school,  or  their  father  or  mother,  or  their 
governess  or  guardian,  or  their  neighbor,  or  their  brother 
or  sister, — you  must  first  secure  their  interest  and  affec- 


Ch.  9.]  CHILDREN.  _  S9S 

Indulgence.  Presents.  Decision  and  firmness. 

tion,  or  you  can  do  them  little  good.  If  they  dislike  you 
personally,  they  will  instinctively  repel  the  moral  influence 
you  may  endeavor  to  exert  upon  them.  If  you  have  no 
sympathy  with  their  childish  feelings,  you  can  gain  no 
sympathy  in  their  hearts,  for  the  sentiments  and  principles 
you  may  endeavor  to  inculcate  upon  them.  If,  however, 
you  can  secure  their  affection  and  sympathy,  your  power 
over  them  is  almost  unbounded.  They  will  believe  what- 
ever you  tell  them,  and  adopt  the  principles  and  feelings 
you  express,  simply  because  they  are  yours.  They  will 
catch  the  very  tone  of  your  voice,  and  expression  of  your 
countenance,  and  reflect  spontaneously,  the  moral  image, 
whatever  it  may  be,  which  your  character  may  hold  up 
before  them. 

3.  Never  attempt  to  acquire  an  ascendency  over  chil- 
dren by  improper  indulgence.  It  is  one  of  the  mysteries 
of  human  nature,  that  indulgence  never  awakens  gratitude 
or  love  in  the  heart  of  a  child.  The  boy  or  girl  who  is 
most  yielded  to,  most  indulged,  rs  always  the  most  ungrate- 
ful, the  most  selfish,  and  the  most  utterly  unconcerned 
about  the  happiness  or  the  suffering  of  father  and  mother 
Pursue  then,  a  straight  forward,  firm  and  decided  course; 
calm,  yet  determined, — kind,  yet  adhering  inflexibly  to  what 
is  right.  This  is  the  way  to  secure  affection  and  respect, 
whether  it  be  in  the  intercourse  of  parent  with  child,  brother 
with  sister,  teacher  with  pupil,  general  with  soldier,  or 
magistrate  with  citizen.  Yes,  the  youngest  child,  when 
allowed  to  conquer,  though,  perhaps,  gratified  at  his  suc- 
cess, has  sagacity  enough  to  despise  the  weakness  and 
want  of  principle  which  yielded  to  him.  He  cannot  feel 
either  respect  or  afl?ection.  ]n  the  same  manner,  you 
cannot  depend  upon  presents.  Unreasonable  indulgence 
and  profusion  of  presents,  are  the  two  most  common  modes 
of  endeavoring  to  buy  the  good  will  of  the  young.  But, 
the  slightest  knowledge  of  human  nature  ought  to  teach  us 
that  love  cannot  be  bought,  and  if  we  were  without  even 
25* 


294  The  way  to  do  good.  [Ch.  9. 

The  way  to  gain  an  influence.  Way  to  use  it. 

this  little  knowledge,  a  few  trials  would  be  sufficient,  one 
would  think,  to  convince  us  that  these  things,  at  least, 
cannot  buy  it.  Just  so  far  as  they  are  indications  of  your 
sympathy  and  affection  for  the  child  who  receives  them,  so 
far  they  will  tend  to  win  his  love  in  return.  But  other 
indications  of  this  sympathy  and  affection  on  your  part  will 
answer  just  as  well.  Presents  alone,  have  far  less  in- 
fluence in  awakening  the  affection  and  gratitude  of  chil- 
dren, than  kind  words;  and  the  most  valuable  gift,  coldly 
given,  will  not  win  a  boy's  heart  half  so  effectually,  as 
sitting  down  with  him  for  a  few  minutes  on  the  bank,  and 
helping  him  make  his  whistle. 

5.  The  ascendency  and  the  influence  thus  described  being 
once  gained  over  the  children  with  whom  you  are  connect- 
ed, the  rest  of  the  work  is  easy.  You  have  only  to  exhibit 
right  conduct,  and  exemplify  and  express  right  feelings,  and 
they  will  spontaneously  imitate  the  one,  and  insensibly,  but 
surely  imbibe  the  other.  This  they  will  inevitably  do, 
whether  the  expectation  of  it  be  a  pait  of  your  plan  or  not. 
Whatever  principles  they  see  that  you  habitually  cherish, 
they  will  themselves  adopt,  and  they  will  catch  the  lan- 
guage, and  tone,  and  manner,  and  even  the  very  look  with 
which  you  maintain  them.  And  this,  too,  whether  the 
principles  are  good  or  bad.  If  you  are  fond  of  dress,  or 
applause,  or  admiration,  or  money,  the  children  who  hear 
your  conversation, — if  they  love  you, — will  learn  to  be 
fond  of  them  too.  If  they  see  that  you  love  duty,  and  your 
Savior,  and  are  living  in  the  habitual  fear  of  sin,  and  in 
steady  eftbrts  to  prepare  for  a  future  world, — they  will  feel 
a  stronger  influence  leading  them  to  the  same  choice,  than 
any  other  human  means  can  exert.  In  a  word,  if  they  love 
you,  there  will  be  a  very  strong  tendency  in  their  hearts  to 
vibrate  in  unison  with  yours. 

6.  But  this  simple  possession  of  the  right  feelings  and 
principles  is  not  enough.  That  is,  though  it  will  alone 
accomplish  a  great  deal,  it  will  not  alone  effect  all  that 


Ch.   9.]  CHILDREN. 


Expression  of  the  truth.  The  winter  walk  and  the  snow  bird. 

may  be  effected.  You  must  distinctly  express  good  senti- 
ments in  their  hearing,  as  well  as  exemplify  them  in  your 
conduct.  In  the  school  room,  on  the  Sabbath,  by  the  fire- 
side, in  your  walks,  take  occasion  to  express  what  is  right. 
1  do  not  mean  here  to  prove  it,  or  explain  it,  or  illustrate 
it, — I  mean,  to  express  it.  Clothe  it  in  language.  Give 
truth  utterance.  There  is  more  in  this  than  mankind 
generally  suppose.  In  many  cases,  when  an  argument  on 
a  moral  subject  is  successfully  presented  to  a  popular 
audience,  the  logical  force  of  the  argument  is  not  the 
secret  of  the  effect.  The  work  is  done  by  the  various 
enunciations  of  the  proposition  directly  or  indirectly  con- 
tained in  the  train  of  reasoning, — enunciations  which  pro- 
duce their  effect  as  simple  expressions  of  the  truth.  There 
is  something  in  man  which  enables  him  to  seize,  as  it  were, 
by  direct  prehension,  what  is  true,  and  right,  and  proper, 
when  it  is  distinctly  presented  to  him.  He  sees  its  moral 
fitness,  by  a  sort  of  direct  moral  vision; — he  has  an  appe- 
tite for  it,  as  for  food,  which  is  only  to  be  presented,  iri 
order  to  be  received. 

.  This  is  specially  true  of  children,  for  in  them,  the  powers 
of  reasoning  are  not  developed,  and  consequently  the  sus- 
ceptibility of  being  influenced  by  reasoning,  is  smaller  in 
proportion,  than  with  the  mature. 

For  example,  you  are  walking  with  a  little  child,  on  a 
pleasant  morning  in  the  last  of  February,  on  the  crust  of 
the  snow,  and  some  little  snow  birds  hop  along  before  you, 
picking  the  seeds  from  the  stems  of  the  herbage  which  the 
wintry  storms  have  not  entirely  covered.  Now  the  sound- 
est and  most  intelligent  argument  you  can  offer  the  child 
in  favor  of  kindness  to  animals,  would  not  have  half  as 
much  power  over  it,  as  some  such  a  soliloquy  as  this. 

"  Oh,  see  that  little  bird.  Shall  I  throw  my  cane  at  him? 
Oh,  no  indeed!  it  would  hurt  him  very  much,  or  if  it  did 
not  hit  him,  it  would  frighten  him  very  much.  I  am  sure 
I  would  not  hurt  that  little  bird.     He  is  picking  up  the 


296  THE   WAY   TO    DO    GOOD.  [Ch.  9. 


The  expression  of  kindness  or  of  cruelty. 


seeds.  I  am  glad  he  can  find  those  little  seeds.  They 
taste  very  sweet  to  him,  I  suppose.  I  wish  I  had  some 
crumbs  of  bread  to  give  him.  Do  you  thing  he  is  cold? 
No,  he  is  all  covered  with  warm  feathers;  I  do  not  think 
he  is  cold.  Only  his  feet  are  not  covered  with  feathers.  I 
hope  they  are  not  cold." 

Or  if  your  companion  is  a  boy  of  ten  or  twelve  years  of 
age,  you  may  speak  in  a  different  manner,  while  still  you 
utter  nothing  but  a  simple  expression  of  your  kindness  and 
interest,  and  you  will  by  it  awaken  kindness  and  interest 
in  him.     You  say  perhaps, 

"  See  that  snow  bird.  Stop,  do  not  let  us  frighten  him. 
Poor  little  thing!  I  should  think  he  would  find  it  hard  work 
to  get  a  living  in  these  fields  of  snow.  He  is  picking  the 
seeds  out  of  the  tops  of  last  year's  plants.  Let  him  have 
all  he  can  find.  There  is  a  fine  large  weed  by  the  side  of 
that  rock,  I  wish  he  could  see  it.  We  will  move  around 
this  way,  and  then  perhaps  he  will  hop  towards  the  rock. 
There  he  goes.  He  has  found  it;  now  stop  and  see  him 
feast  himself." 

Suppose,  now,  on  the  other  hand,  you  say, 

"Stop,  there  's  a  snow  bird;  stand  back  a  minute  and 
see  how  quick  I  will  knock  him  down  with  my  cane.  If  I 
once  hit  him,  I  will  warrant  he  will  never  hop  again." 

Now  these  are  all  mere  expressions  of  your  own  feel- 
ing, and  in  nine  cases  out  of  ten,  the  child  who  should 
listen  to  them,  would  find  his  heart  gliding  spontaneously 
into  the  same  state  with  your  own,  whether  it  were  that  of 
kindness  or  cruelty.  This  mere  utterance  of  the  senti- 
ment or  feeling  of  your  heart,  would,  except  where  some 
peculiar  counteracting  causes  prevent  it,  awaken  the  like 
in  him.  Hence,  be  always  ready  not  only  to  exhibit  in 
your  conduct  the  influence  of  right  principle,  but  to  express 
that  principle,  in  language;  Many  persons  imagine  that 
unless  they  explain,  or  illustrate,  or  prove  the  truth,  they 
can  have   nothing  to  say.     But   they  mistake;  it   is  the 


Ch.  9.]  CHILDREN.  ^d1^ 

Formal  instruction.  Solitude. 

simple  expression  of  it,  pleasantly  and  clearly,  in  a  thou-X 
sand  various  ways,  and  on  a  thousand  different  occasions,  J 
which  will  do  more  than  either  explanation,  illustration,*  qj/ 
proof. 

7.  But,  still,  though  the  former  is  what  produces  com- 
paratively the  greatest  effect,  the  latter  must  receive 
attention  too.  Correct  moral  principle  must  not  only  be 
exhibited  in  your  conduct  and  expressed  in  your  conver- 
sation; it  is  also  of  the  utmost  importance  that  it  should  be, 
from  time  to  time,  formally  illustrated  and  proved.  The 
admission  of  moral  principle  to  the  minds  of  the  young, 
and  the  formation  of  right  habits  of  feeling,  may  perhaps 
be  most  easily  received  at  first,  by  means  of  these  moral 
sympathies;  but  it  is  only  in  the  calm  and  intelligent  con- 
viction of  the  reason,  that  rectitude  can  have  any  firm  and 
lasting  foundation  for  its  throne.  If  your  habitual  conduct 
does  not  exhibit,  and  your  conversation  express  right 
principles,  you  can  never  bring  your  children  to  adopt 
them  by  any  arguments  for  their  truth;  but  if  your  habitual 
conduct  and  conversation  is  right,  formal  and  logical  in- 
struction is  necessary  to  secure  permanently,  the  conquests 
which  these  influences  will  certainly  make.  ^ 

8.  One  more  practical  direction  remains.      It   does  not    I 
arise  very  directly  from  the  general  views  advanced  in  thia 
chapter,  and  has  in  fact,  no  special  connection  with  them. 

It  relates  also  more  particularly  to  the  duty  of  parents; 
but  it  is  so  fundamentally  important  that  it  ought  to  be  ap- 
pended here.  It  is,  keep  children  as  much  as  possible  by 
themselves, — away  from  evil  influences, — separate, — alone. 
Keep  them  from  bad  company,  is  very  common  advice. 
We  may  go  much  farther,  and  almost  say,  keep  them  from 
company,  good  or  bad.  Of  course,  this  is  to  be  understood 
with  proper  limits  and  restrictions;  for  to  a  certain  extent, 
associating  with  others  is  of  high  advantage  to  them,  both 
intellectually  and  morally.  But  this  extent  is  almost  univer- 
sally far  exceeded,  and  it  will  be  generally  found  that  the 


298  THE    WAY    TO    DO    GOOD.  [Ch.  9. 

Influence  of  man  upon  man.  Solitude. 

most  virtuous  and  the  most  intellectual,  are  those  who  have 
been  brought  up  most  by  themselves  and  alone. 

In  fact,  all  history  and  experience  shows,  and  it  is  rather 
a  dark  sign  in  respect  to  poor  human  nature,  that  the 
mutual  influence  of  man  upon  man,  is  an  influence  of 
deterioration  and  corruption.  Where  men  congregate  in 
masses,  there  depravity  thrives,  and  they  can  keep  near  to 
innocence  only  by  being  remote  from  one  another.  Thus 
densely  populated  cities,  are  always  most  immoral:  an 
army,  a  ship,  a  factory,  a  crowded  prison,  and  great  gangs 
of  laborers  working  in  common,  always  exhibit  peculiar 
tendencies  to  vice.  So  with  the  young.  Boys  learn  more 
evil  than  good  of  their  playmates  at  school;  a  college 
student  who  is  regular,  quiet  and  docile  at  home,  in  his 
vacations,  is  often  wild,  dissipated,  idle  and  insubordinate 
in  term  time  at  college;  and  how  often  has  the  mother 
found  that  either  one  of  two  troublesome  children,  seem 
subdued  and  softened  and  dutiful,  when  the  other  is  away. 
It  seems  as  if  human  nature  can  be  safe  only  in  a  state  of 
segregation;  in  a  mass,  it  runs  at  once  to  corruption  and 
ruin. 

So  far  then,  as  promiscuous  intercommunication  among 
the  children  of  a  town  or  a  neighborhood  is  impeded,  so 
far,  within  proper  limits  and  restrictions,  will  the  moral 
welfare  of  the  whole  be  advanced.  Few  companions  and 
fewer  intimacies,  and  many  hours  of  solitary  occupation 
and  enjoyment,  will  lead  to  the  development  of  the  highest 
intellectual  and  moral  traits  of  character;  in  fact,  his  men- 
tal resources  may  be  considered  as  entirely  unknown  and 
unexplored,  who  cannot  spend  his  best  and  happiest  hours 
alone. 

It  is  often  said  that  the  young  must  be  exposed  to  the 
temptations  and  bad  influences  of  the  world,  in  order  to 
know  what  they  are,  by  experience,  and  learn  how  to 
resist  them.  "They  must  be  exposed  to  them,"  say 
these  advocates  of  early  temptation,  "  at   some   time  or 


Ch.  9.]  CHILDREN.  299 

Learning  by  experience.  Recapitulation. 

other,  and  they  may  as  well  begin  in  season,  so  as  to  get  the 
mastery  over  them  the  sooner."  But  this  is  not  so.  The 
exposure,  if  avoided  in  youth,  is  avoided  principally  for 
ever.  A  virtuous  man  in  any  honest  pursuit  of  life  comes 
very  little  into  contact  or  connection  with  vice.  He  sees 
and  hears  more  or  less  of  it,  it  is  true,  every  day,  but  his 
virtuous  habits  and  associates  and  principles  are  such,  that 
it  is  kept,  as  it  were,  at  a  sort  of  moral  distance.  It  does 
not  possess  that  power  of  contamination,  which  a  corrupt 
school  boy  exercises  over  his  comparatively  innocent  com- 
panion. A  vast  proportion  of  the  vicious  and  immoral  are 
made  so  before  they  are  of  age,  and  accordingly,  he  who 
goes  on  safely  through  the  years  of  his  minority,  will 
generally  go  safely  for  the  rest  of  the  way. 

The  principles  which  we  have  been  inculcating  in  this 
chapter,  may,  then,  in  conclusion,  be  summed  up  thus. 

Children  are  eager  to  exercise  continually  their  opening 
faculties,  and  to  learn  all  they  can  about  the  world  into 
which  they  are  ushered.  Those  who  ■aid  and  sympathize 
with  them  in  these,  their  childlike  feelings,  they  will  love, 
and  their  principles  and  conduct  they  will  adopt  and 
imitate. 

This  being  so,  we  have,  by  rendering  them  this  aid  and 
sympathy,  an  easy  way  of  gaining  over  them  a  powerful 
ascendency.  This  once  gained,  we  must  exemplify  in  our 
conduct,  and  express  in  our  daily  conversation,  and  enforce 
by  formal  instructions,  the  principles  which  we  wish  them 
to  imbibe,  and  they  will  readily  imbibe  them.  Then,  to 
make  our  work  sure,  we  must  shelter  their  tender  minds 
from  those  rude  blasts  of  moral  exposure,  which  howl 
every  where  in  this  wilderness  of  sin.  Any  Christian  who 
will  act  faithfully  on  these  principles,  towards  the  children 
who  are  within  his  reach,  will  probably  save  many  of  them 
from  vice  and  misery,  and  he  will  certainly  elevate  the 
temporal  virtue  and  happiness  of  them  all.  And  if  he  acts 
in  these  duties  as  the  humble,  but  devoted  follower  of  Jesus 


300  THE    WAY   TO    DO    GOOD  [Ch.    10. 

Instruction.  Plan  of  the  chapter. 

Christ, — sincere,  unaffected,  honest,  childlike  himself, — 
there  are  no  labors  in  which  he  can  engage,  for  which  he 
may  with  greater  confidence  invoke  the  interposition  of  the 
Holy  Spirit,  to  bless  them  to  the  salvation  of  souls. 


CHAPTER  X. 

INSTRUCTION. 

■  Apt  to  teach,  patient.'* 


It  might  perhaps  have  been  expected  by  the  reader,  that 
the  subject  of  religious  instruction  would  have  formed  a  sub- 
ordinate topic  of  the  last  chapter,  but  it  is  so  extensive  and 
important  in  its  bearings,  that  it  seemed  better  to  give  it  a 
more  full  discussion,  and  to  confine  that  chapter  simply  to 
the  character  of  early  childhood,  and  to  the  mode  of  gain- 
ing an  ascendency  over  it.  Besides,  it  is  not  merely  to  the 
young,  that  the  principles  to  be  elucidated  now,  will  apply. 
It  is  the  whole  question,  of  approaching  the  human  intellect 
with  religious  truth,  that  we  shall  here  consider,  whether 
the  subjects  be  old  or  young, — a  class  in  the  Sabbath  school, 
or  a  circle  of  children  around  the  fireside,  on  a  winter 
evening,  or  a  younger  sister  listening  to  the  conversation 
of  an  older  one,  while  walking  in  the  fields; — and  even  the 
pastor  will  find  these  principles  and  methods,  such  as  in 
spirit  guide  him  in  his  course  of  instruction  to  the  adult 
congregation,  which  he  leads  forward  from  week  to  week, 
in  religious  knowledge. 

The  following  propositions  exhibit  the  view  which  we 
shall  take  of  the  subject  in  this  chapter. 

I  I.  Our  success  depends  upon  the  fulness  and  force  with 
which  the  details  of  truth  and  duty  are  presented,  and  not 


Ch.   10.3  iNSTRlJCTlON.  301 

Five  propositions.  Mode  of  divine  instruction. 

upon  the  scientific  accuracy  with  which  they  are  condens- 
ed into  systems  of  theology. 

2.  Thie  bible  must  be  resorted  to  as  the  great  storehouse 
of  moral  and  religious  truth. 

3.  The  field  of  observatianaad  expejience  must  be  ex- 
plorettT^for  the  means  of  applying  and  enforcing  it. 

4.  Its  hold  upon  the  soul  is  to  be  secured  mainly  by 
wakening  up  a  testimony  in  its  favor  from  within. 

5.  Attempts  to  remove  error  by  argument  and  personal 
controversy,  are  almost  always  in  vain. 

These  propositions  we  proceed  to  consider  in  their  order 

1.  Our  success  depends  upon  the  fulness  and  force  with 
which  the  details  of  truth  and  duty  are  presented,  and  not 
upon  the  scientific  accuracy  with  which  they  are  condensed 
into  systems  of  theology. 

We  are  in  the  first  place  struck,  when  we  look  at  this 
subject,  at  a  very  remarkable  difference  between  the  mode 
which  God  has  taken  to  instruct  mankind  in  religious  truth 
and  duty, — and  that  which,  in  modern  times,  we  almost 
spontaneously  fall  upon.  His  mode  and  order  of  instruc- 
tion, are  totally  diflTerent  from  ours  :  I  mean  are  totally 
different  in  one  respect.  He  exhibits  the  principles  of 
truth  and  duty,  one  by  one,  as  they  occur  in  connection 
with  the  ordinary  incidents  and  events  of  life.  We  give 
them  in  the  order  of  a  well  digested  and  logical  system, 
in  fact,  we  may  almost  say  that  we  teach  the  system,  rath- 
er than  the  truths  themselves,  by  whose  arrangement  the 
system  is  constituted.  God's  first  lesson  to  the  human  race 
was  the  first  five  books  of  Moses; — the  simple  story  of  the 
Patriarchs,  and  of  the  children  of  Israel ;  and  the  institu- 
te 


302  THE    WAY    TO    DO    GOOD.  [Ch.    10. 

Our  methods.  The  contrast.  Reason  for  it. 

tion  of  the  moral  and  ceremonial  law.  Our  first  lessonr 
would  very  likely  have  been  an  abridged,  systematized, 
severe  treatise,  on  the  science  of  moral  and  religious  phi- 
losophy. He  simply  tells  the  story  of  Cain  and  Abel.  We, 
perhaps,  should  have  given  a  disquisition  on  the  nature  of 
murder;  proved  that  human  life  is  sacred,  and  analyzed 
ipalice.  He  narrates  the  history  of  Abraham,  perhaps  not 
using  the  word  faith,  and  certainly  not  making  a  single 
remark  concerning  its  nature,  from  one  end  of  the  story 
to  the  other.  We  discuss  the  theory  of  faith,  separate  its 
essence, — point  out  all  the  distinctions  in  its  varieties, — 
some  real,  others  imaginary.  Religious  duty,  as  he  pre- 
sents it,  is  a  living  and  acting  reality,  moving  about  among 
men,  developing  its  character  by  its  conduct.  In  our 
hands,  it  lies  upon  a  table,  as  some  writer  has  justly  said, 
and  we  are  demonstrating,  by  means  of  the  scalpel  and 
forceps,  its  inward  structure.  The  dissection  is  most 
ingenious  and  skilful,  and  the  demonstration,  though 
sometimes  lost  in  minute  details,  is  still  very  scientific 
and  complete;  but  then  the  poor  subject  is  often  murdered 
and  mutilated  under  the  operation. 

And  yet  we  ought  scarcely  to  say  that,  for  we  do  not 
mean  to  condemn  altogether  the  tendency  to  analysis  and 
system-making,  so  prevalent  in  modern  days.  Times  have 
changed,  the  human  mind  has  altered,  not,  indeed,  in  its 
native  characteristics,  but  in  its  habits  and  modes  of 
thought, — and  instruction  now  has  somewhat  different  ob- 
jects, and  must  pursue  somewhat  different  means,  when 
addressed  to  individual  infancy,  by  one  of  us,  from  those 
adopted,  when,  three  thousand  years  ago,  it  was  addressed 
by  Jehovah  to  the  infancy  of  the  human  race.  We  do  not, 
therefore,  compare  the  two  methods,  in  order  to  condemn, 
altogether,  ours.  We  wish  to  look  at  both,  for  we  may 
learn  a  good  deal  from  either;  and  especially  as  it  is  un- 
doubtedly true,  that  in  our  efforts  with  the  young,  and,  in 
feet,  with  the  mass  of  mankind,  it  will  be  best  for  us  to  in- 


Ch.   10.]  INSTRUCTION.  303 

Illustration.  Botany.  Tlie  two  students. 

cline  strongly  to  the  example,  which  God  has  set  us  in  his 
own  communications. 

But  a  word  or  two  more,  before  we  proceed,  in  respect 
to  the  nature  of  the  difference,  above  referred  to.  We  can 
illustrate  it  by  describing  the  modes,  by  which  two  individ- 
uals may  pursue  the  study  of  botany.  One  takes  books  of 
scientific  arrangement,  and  begins  with  classes,  and  orders, 
and  genera,  and  looks  upon  the  whole  vegetable  kingdom 
as  a  scientific  system.  He  goes  into  the  field  to  collect 
specimens,  simply  as  partial  illustrations  of  the  great  arti- 
ficial edifice,  which  the  labors  of  the  botanist  have  gradual- 
ly formed.  The  system,  the  arrangement,  the  classifica- 
tion, is  all  in  all  to  him, — the  observed  facts  are  only  sub- 
sidiary and  illustrative.  It  was  not  so  with  the  botanists 
themselves,  when  they  formed  the  system.  The  observed 
facts  were  the  foremost  with  them,  and  stood  out  prominent 
in  their  conceptions  of  the  vegetable  world.  The  system^ 
the  arrangement  came  last,  and  was  subsidiary  and  illus- 
trative in  respect  to  the  facts.  But  our  studen*  has  revers- 
ed this  process.  He  begins  where  the  botanist  ends,  and 
works  back  to  where  they  began.  Because  he  is  studying 
their  works,  he  imagines  that  he  is  treading  in  their  foot- 
steps. And  so  he  is,  but  he  is  retracing  them.  The  track 
of  his  foot  is  reversed  upon  theirs  all  the  way.  He  looks 
in  the  opposite  direction;  he  begins  where  they  ended, 
though  he  seldom  gets  to  where  they  began. 

Our  other  pupil  now  takes  a  different  course.  He  goes 
out  into  the  field  looking  for  plants,  and  he  first  sees,  we 
will  suppose,  along  under  the  fences  and  by  the  road-side, 
a  profusion  of  thistles.  He  examines  the  structure  of  this 
individual  plant,  notices  the  leaf,  the  flower,  the  seed.  By 
means  of  books,  or  through  his  teacher,  he  learns  to  what 
degree  the  plant  is  extended  over  the  earth,  that  is,  what 
portion  of  the  earth  it  occupies; — whether  it  is  spreading 
still,  and  if  so,  where  and  how.  whether  it  is  useful  for  any 
purposes, — or  injurious;  and  what  methods  are  in  use  by 


304  THE    WAY    TO    DO  GOOD.  [Ch.    10. 

The  thistle.  The  rose. 

agriculturists  for  its  extermination.  So  he  examines  mi- 
nutely its  structure;  its  leaves,  its  flower,  its  seed, — and 
studies  its  habits.  In  a  word,  he  becomes  thoroughly  ac- 
quainted with  this  one  plant,  a  plant  that  is  all  around  him, 
which  he  sees  every  day,  and  is  very  often  made,  in  his 
hearing,  a  subject  of  remark  or  conversation.  While  he 
has  been  doing  this,  the  pupil,  who  began  at  the  other 
end,  has,  perhaps,  nearly  finished  committing  to  memory 
the  names  of  the  Linnaean  classes. 

Our  second  pupil,  however,  having  mastered  the  thistle, 
takes  next,  perhaps,  the  rose,  or  some  other  common  plant, 
and  after  having  studied  it  thoroughly  in  its  individuality, 
as  he  did  the  thistle,  the  teacher  calls  his  attention  to  the 
points  of  resemblance,  in  respect  to  structure,  which  it  may 
bear  to  the  thistle.  Here  now  is  his  beginning  of  system 
and  arrangement.  Connecting  together  by  observed  simi- 
larities, and  discriminating  by  observed  differences,  the 
objects  with  which,  individually,  he  has  become  fully  ac- 
quainted. This  is  beginning  at  the  right  end.  This  is 
really  following  on  in  the  footsteps  of  the  botanists,  his 
masters.  As  he  profceeJs,  he  arranges  and  classifies  his 
knowledge,  just  as  fast  as  he  acquires  it.  System  is  thus 
the  handmaid  and  preserver  of  knowledge,  as  she  ought  to 
be,  and  not  the  mere  substitute  for  it.  He  builds  up  in  his 
own  mind,  the  edifice  of  scientific  system,  just  as  fast  as 
the  substantial  materials  are  furnished  him;  and  comes  out 
at  the  end,  as  the  great  masters  did  before  him,  with  that 
magnificent  temple  of  science,  which,  like  all  other  sub- 
stantial edifices,  must  be  built  from  bottom  to  top,  and  not 
from  top  to  bottom. 

To  make  this  case  clear  and  distinct,  I  have  represented 
the  two  modes,  each  pure  in  its  kind, — the  extreme  cases 
on  the  two  plans.  In  point  of  fact,  however,  there  is  ordi- 
narily some  mixture  of  the  two,  or  rather  an  adoption  in 
general  of  the  one  course,  with  some  tendency  towards  the 
other.    In  fact,  intelligent  teachers  who  may  read  this  chap- 


Ch.   10.]  INSTRUCTION.  305 

Nature  and  use  of  science  and  system. 

ter,  will  probably  perceive  that  the  principle  of  the  latter 
mode,  though  really  most  philosophical  in  its  nature,  ought 
not,  for  the  common  purposes  of  instruction,  to  be  pressed 
too  far.  The  results  arrived  at  by  the  original  investigators 
of  the  science,  may  aid  the  pupil  very  much,  in  his  efforts 
to  follow  them:  and  the  system  and  the  principles  of  ar- 
rangement might  very  advantageously  be  explained  in  gen- 
eral, and  carried  along  with  him,  as  he  goes  on.  Many 
teachers  have  erred  in  carrying  the  principle,  which  I  have 
been  endeavoring  to  illustrate,  to  extremes:  in  the  mathe- 
matics, for  example,  and  in  the  natural  sciences.  They 
have  thus,  sometimes  pressed  the  plan  of  making  the  pupils 
pursue  this  natural  course  of  induction,  so  far,  as  to  deprive 
them  of  the  aid  of  those  who  have  preceded  them.  In  fact, 
carrying  out  the  principle  to  its  full  extent,  would  almost 
make  every  pupil  an  independent  investigator  and  discov- 
erer,— whereas  a  life  would  not  suffice  for  the  most  com- 
mon attainments,  in  any  one  science,  in  this  way.  The 
true  principle  seems  to  be,  to  lead  the  pupil  over  the 
ground  in  the  natural  track,  acquiring  knowledge  first  in 
detail,  and  arranging  and  classifying  it,  as  he  proceeds. 
The  worth  and  utility  of  what  he  learns,  will  depend  upon 
the  fulness,  and  freshness,  and  vitality  of  his  individual 
acquisitions,  and  scientific  system  should  be  gradually  de- 
veloped as  the  apartments  of  it  can  be  occupied.  The 
building  is  beautiful  in  itself,  it  is  true,  but  it  is  valuable, 
chiefly  as  a  means  of  securing  and  preserving  from  de- 
rangement and  loss,  the  valuables  it  contains. 

And  now  to  apply  these  considerations  to  the  subject 
before  us.  Three  thousand  years  ago,  Jehovah  began  to 
communicate  by  slow  arid  sinipte^st^^riiofal  and  religious 
truth,  and  instruction  in  moral  and  religious  duty,  to  man. 
He  brought  forward  these  truths,  not  in  the  order  of  scien- 
Tific  system,  but  in  that  of  commonness, — everyday  im- 
portance,— moral  proximity.  It  is  the  thistle  first,  and 
then  the  rose.     These  revelations  were  slowly  continued 


306  THE    WAY  TO   DO   GOOD.  [Ch.    10, 

The  theologians.  Province  and  value  of  theological  science. 

for  many  centuries.  The  profoundest  intellects,  and  the 
purest  moral  sensibilities,  have  been,  in  all  ages  of  the 
world,  employed  upon  these  truths, — examining  and  ar- 
ranging them,  and  observing  and  noting  the  points  of 
resemblance  or  of  diversity.  They  have  examined  them 
synthetically  and.  analytically;  they  have  made  nice  dis- 
tinctions, dissecting  out  truth  into  all  its  ramifications, 
and  they  have  explored  things  most  diverse  and  distinct  in 
appearance,  and  traced  them  to  a  common  origin.  These 
intellectual  processes  have  been  going  on  for  ages,  and  we 
have  now  before  us,  as  the  result,  the  same  truth,  indeed, 
which  the  prophets  and  the  apostles  taught,  but  arranged, 
and  classified,  and  formed  into  a  scientific  system. 

Let  now  the  reader  not  suppose  that  we  mean  to  con 
demn  this.    Not  at  all.    If  any  thing  is  plain,  it  is  that  God 
intended  that  the  minds  of  men  should  exercise  themselves 
strongly  and  continually  upon  what  he  has  revealed.     The 
field  of  moral  and  religious  truth,  as  his  Word  and  the  uni 
versal  dictates  of  conscience  lay  it  open,  affords  the  finest 
scope  for  the  exercise  of  the  highest  hutnan  powers;  and 
the  nature  of  the  case,  and  especially  the  very  condition 
in  which  the  close  of  his  revelation  has  left  the  whole 
ground,  shows  plainly  that  he  intended  that  we  should  ex- 
plore and  cultivate  it.     The  object  of  these  remarks  is  not 
at  all  to  condemn  theological  science,  but  only  to  point  out 
the  facts  in  the  case,  with  reference  to  their  influence  upon 
the  course  we  ought  to  pursue,   in  endeavoring  to  initiate 
the  young  in  religious  knowledge.     That  great  mass  of 
religious  and  moral  truth,  which  the  bible  and  the  human 
conscience  bring  before  the  mind,  in  slow  detail  and  minute 
applications,  has  been  by  the  patient  theological  labor  and 
acumen  of  many  centuries,  at  last  elaborated  into  scientific 
systems.     Now  Ave  must  not,  in  guiding  the  young,  com- 
mence with  the  science  and  the  system,  and  work  back  to 
the  elements;  we  must  go  round  back  to  the  beginning, 
and  give  them  truth  and  explain  to  them  duty,  substantially 


Ch.   10.]  INSTRUCTION.  S61 


Systematic  education. 


in  the  order  ana  manner  in  which  God  has  done  it,  and 
come  to  the  science  and  the  system  at  last.     We  shall 
explain  more   particularly,  how  this  is  to  be  done,  as  we 
proceed.     But  this  general  view  of  the  subject,  if  properly 
appreciated,  will  at  once  throw  open  a  very  wide  field  of 
religious  instruction,   and  make  the  work  comparatively 
easy.     Persons  very  often  feel  timid  and  constrained,  in 
their  efforts  at  instruction  in  the  bible  class,  or  Sabbath 
school,  or  even  with  their  own  children  at  home,  because 
they  feel  that  their  own  attainments  are  not  of  a  sufficiently 
logical  and  systematic  character.     They  know  vastly  more 
than  their  pupils,   they  admit,  but  they  are  not  scholars 
enough  to  teach  what  they  know.     Their  own  education 
has  not  been  regular  and  systematic  enough,  they  imagine. 
That  is,  they  have  not  gone  through  the  whole  theological 
course,  and  come  out  with  that  complete  system  of  truth, 
by  which,  as  by  a  frame  work,  they  imagine  that  all  subor- 
dinate teaching  should  be  regulated.     But  this  is  not  the 
work  to  be  done.     Your  simple  business  is.to,  look  at  once 
around  you,  and  take  any  thing  that  is  moral  or  religious 
truthja^d^exQainJ''^  and  exhibit  it  in  its  simpli- 

city, and  in  its  individuality,  to  the  minds  of  the  young.  It 
is  no  matter  whether  your  knowledge  exists  in  the  form  of 
syst^ematized  theology  or  not.  In  either  case,  your  busi 
ness  is  to  bring  before  your  pupils  the  elements,  as  indi- 
vidual elements,  in  all  their  freshness  and  particularity  and 
their  endless  application  to  the  circumstances  and  wants  of 
common  life.  The  science  which  you  feel  the  need  of,  though 
it  would  be  of  immense  value  to  you,  as  a  means  of  giving 
clearness  to  your  conceptions,  and  vigor  and  confidence  to 
all  your  mental  operations,  is  not,  after  all,  what  you  want 
to  present,  as  such  to  the  mind  of  the  child.  Teach  them 
all  the  details  of  truth  and  duty,  and  in  any  order.  Study 
and  present  the  principles  of  piety  in  their  ordinary  applica- 
tions to  the  circumstances  of  life.  Dwell  on  what  is  ob- 
vious, important,  and  of  every  day  utility,  rather  than  on 


^ 


308  THE   WAY   TO   »0   GOOD.  [Ch.   10 

The  Bible  the  storehouse.  Korah. 

what  is  metaphysical,  or  far  fetched,  or  refined,  and  thus 
store  the  minds  of  your  pupils  with  the  materials  which 
their  riper  studies  may  classif|r  and^arrange.  This  is  the 
wisest  course  for  them,  whether  they  form  a  bible  class  of 
youth,  or  a  crowded  congregation  of  adults,  or  a  little 
circle  of  children  at  the  fireside. 


2.  The  Bible  must  be  resorted  to,  as  the  great  storehouse 
of  moral  and  religious  truth. 

The  doctrinal  and  preceptive  portions  of  the  Bible,  de- 
serve a  prominent  place,  undoubtedly,  as  the  source  from 
which  religious  instruction  is  to  be  drawn,  but  perhaps  they 
ought  not  to  occupy  a  share  of  attention  so  nearly  exclu- 
sive, as  they  often  do.  The  narratives  of  the  Old  Testa- 
ment, and  of  the  New,  are  full  of  materials,  if  read  and 
explained  with  a  view  to  bringing  out  their  moral  expres- 
sion. The  Bible  may  be  studied,  in  fact,  with  many  totally 
different  objects  and  aims,  each  of  which  is  valuable  in  its 
place.  We  may  carry  a  class  rapidly  over  the  books  of 
Kings  and  Chronicles,  for  example,  with  a  view  to  obtain- 
ing a  general  knowledge  of  their  literary  contents;  and  by 
collating  them,  and  comparing  passage  with  passage,  re- 
duce to  system,  and  to  a  clear,  connected  view,  their  chro- 
nological and  historical  details.  This  now  would  be  totally 
different  from  taking  up  in  detail  the  several  narratives 
which  these  books  contain,  for  the  purpose  of  bringing  out 
to  view,  the  moral  lessons  which  each  one  was  intended  to 
teach.  Now  it  is  this  latter  mode,  that  1  refer  to  here. 
The  Scriptures  are  an  inexhaustible  storehouse,  from  which 
moral  truth  may  be  drawn,  in  every  form  of  its  develop- 
ment, and  in  all  the  innumerable  varieties  of  its  application. 

Let  us  take  a  case  at  random,  to  illustrate  how  full  the 
narratives  of  the  Scriptures  are  of  moral  truth,  which  needs 
only  to  be  brought  out  to  view,  in  order  strongly  to  interest 
and  to  benefit  the  young.      We  will  take  Korah 's  mutiny, 


Ch.    10.]  INSTRUCTION.  909 

Korah's  mutiny.  The  parties.  Their  designs. 

for  example.  We  select  this  case,  because  it  is  one  of 
those  narratives,  which,  on  account  of  the  terrible  termin- 
ation of  the  case,  is  generally  somewhat  known  to  children, 
and,  therefore,  it  is  the  more  suitable  to  our  purpose,  of 
showing  how  much  may  be  brought  out  to  view,  by  a  Httle 
attention,  which  otherwise  would  be  passed  by  unnoticed 
and  unknown. 

The  teacher  in  his  class,  or  the  parent  at  his  fireside,  or 
even  the  minister  in  his  pulpit,  opens  the  subject  with  the 
J&rst  verse  of  the  passage,  thus; 

"  Now  Korah,  the  son  of  Kohath,  the  son  of  Levi,  and  Dathan  and  Abl- 
lam,  the  sons  of  Eliab,  and  On  the  son  of  Peleth,  sons  of  Reuben,  took  men; 
And  they  rose  up  before  Moses,  with  certain  of  the  children  of  Israel,  two 
hundred  and  fifty  princes  of  the  assembly,  famous  in  the  congregation,  men 
of  renown." 

Now,  in  order  to  have  the  moral  bearings  of  the  narrative 
clearly  appreciated,  the  first  thing  is  to  consider  distinctly 
the  several  parties  in  the  transaction; — ^Korah,  one  of  the 
Levites,  and  Dathan  and  Abiram,  and  On,  of  the  people, 
with  their  respective  adherents.  In  all  such  cases,  we 
must  observe,  first,  who  are  the  persons  brought  upon  the 
stage  of  action,  and  what  their  situations  and  characters 
are,  so  as  to  appreciate  their  words  and  actions,  and  to 
observe  whether  they  are  in  keeping  with  their  respective 
circumstances.  In  order  to  do  this,  in  this  case,  we  must 
recall  to  mind  the  arrangement  which  God  had  made  with 
the  Israelites  in  the  wilderness.  Aaron  was  the  priest, 
holding  the  highest  ecclesiastical  dignity.  The  family  of 
Levi  came  next,  and  the  duties  connected  with  all  the 
ordinary  services  of  worship  devolved  upon  them.  The 
people  generally  were  of  course  devoted  to  other  occupa- 
tions. If  the  pupils  now  distinctly  conceive  of  the  vast 
assembly  encamping  in  the  wilderness,  Moses,  the  military 
commander,  Aaron  holding  the  supreme  sacerdotal  digni- 
ty, and  the  Levite  Korah,  uniting  with  the  princes  Dathan, 


310  THE    WAY   TO   DO    GOOD.  [Ch.    10. 

Conversation  with  Korah.  A  coincidence. 

Abiram   and  On,   in  a  mutiny,  they  will   be   prepared  to 
understand  what  follows. 

**  And  they  gathered  themselves  together  against  Moses,  and  against  Aaron, 
and  said  unto  them.  Ye  take  too  much  upon  you,  seeing  all  the  congregation 
are  holy,  every  one  of  them,  and  the  Lord  is  among  them;  vtrherefore  tlien, 
lift  ye  up  yourselves  above  the  congregation  of  the  Lord  1 " 

Now,  how  much  of  human  nature  is  to  be  seen  in  this 
address,  when  we  come  to  examine  it.  The  real  feeling  in 
the  mind  of  the  speaker  was,  *'  I  cannot  bear  to  be  second. 
I  mean  to  stand  as  high  in  official  dignity  as  Aaron." 
Ambition,  pride,  a  spirit  of  unsubmission  to  God,  was  the 
stimulus.  But  how  is  the  direct  expression  of  it  withheld, 
or  rather  covered  up  and  concealed,  under  an  accusation 
against  Moses  and  Aaron,  and  a  pretended  vindication  of 
the  rights  of  the  mass  of  the  people,  the  universal  pretext 
of  the  spirit  of  disorganization  and  rebellion,  in  every  age 
"You  take  too  much  upon  you;" — when  they  were  them- 
selves going  to  take,  and  that  by  usurpation,  the  very  same 
thing.  And,  "  all  the  congregation  are  holy."  They  did 
not  mean  morally  pure,  by  this,  but  ceremonially  competent 
in  the  eye  of  God,  to  offer  worship  for  themselves.  This 
was  said  just  as  similar  things  are  said  now,  to  gain  parti- 
sans. The  aspiring  demagogue,  in  order  to  carry  on  his 
schemes,  always  flatters  the  great  mass  which  he  wishes  to 
move,  teUing  them  that  they  deserve  an  equality  with  the 
government,  which  he  wishes  them  to  help  him  overthrow. 
Observe,  now,  an  apparently  undesigned,  but  very  inter- 
esting coincidence  which  testifies  strongly  to  the  truth  and 
faithfulness  of  the  narrative.  Who  was  the  speaker  in  this 
case?  There  were  two  parties  in  the  rebellion,  Korah,  the 
Levite,  on  the  one  hand,  and  Dathan,  Abiram  and  On  from 
the  people,  on  the  other.  Now  which  was  the  speaker 
in  this  case?  The  narrative  does  not  tell  us  directly,  but 
't^  speech  itself  betrays  the  feelings  of  the  Levite.  "  Ye 
"take  too  much  upon  you,  for  all  the  people  are  holy;" 
referring   evidently  to  the   ecclesiastical   aspects  of   the 


Ch.  10.]  INSTRUCTIOxV.  311 

Dathan  and  Abiram.  Tlieir  reply. 

arrangement  they  opposed.  The  reply  of  Moses  corres- 
ponds. He  spake  unto  Korah  and  all  his  company ;  and 
below,  we  find  that  the  lay  leaders,  as  we  may  perhaps  call 
them,  were  not  present. 

How  appropriate,  now,  is  the  reply  of  Moses  to  Korah 
and  his  adherents, — how  exactly  what  it  ought  to  be  in 
such  a  case,  to  set  in  a  clear  light  their  ingratitude  and 
wickedness.  After  proposing  a  test  by  which  he  was  on 
the  morrow  to  submit  the  question  to  the  decision  of  God 
himself,  he  reminds  them  of  the  high  station  to  which  they 
had  been  assigned,  and  of  the  ingratitude  and  criminal 
ambition  of  aspiring  to  a  higher  one. 

"  Seemeth  it  but  a  small  thing  unto  you,  that  the  God  of  Israel  hath  sepa- 
rated you  from  the  congregation  of  Israel,  to  bring  you  near  to  himself,  to  do 
the  service  of  the  tabernacle  of  the  Lord,  and  to  stand  before  the  congrega- 
tion to  minister  unto  theml  And  he  hath  brought  thee  near  to  him,  and  all 
thy  brethren,  the  sons  of  Levi  with  thee;  and  seek  ye  the  priesthood  alsol  '* 

His  reply  thus,  is  not  at  all  a  reply  to  what  Korah  had 
said.  Moses  disregards  his  speech  entirely,  and  comes  at 
once  to  his  feelings, — to  the  real  source  of  the  difficulty, 
in  the  pride  and  ambition  in  his  heart. 

Then  he  sent  to  call  Dathan  and  Abiram.  They  would  not 
come,  but  sent  a  disrespectful  message, — one,  however, 
entirely  different,  in  respect  to  the  grounds  of  the  complaint, 
from  the  speech  of  Korah,  and  in  exact  keeping  with  the 
characters  of  the  men.  Korah's  pretence  was  the  natural 
one  coming  from  an  ambitious  priest.  That  of  Dathan  and 
Abiram  was  just  as  natural  from  a  discontented  and  rebel- 
lious people. 

"  Is  it  a  small  thing  that  thou  has  brought  us  up  out  of  a  land  that  floweth 
with  milk  and  honey,  to  kill  us  in  the  wilderness,  except  thou  make  thyself 
altogether  a  prince  over  us?  Moreover,  thou  hast  not  brought  us  into  a  land 
that  floweth  with  milk  and  honey,  or  given  us  inheritance  of  fields  and  vine- 
yards; wilt  thou  put  out  the  eyes  of  these  menl     We  will  not  come  up." 

We  will  not  go  on  any  farther  with  the  narrative.  But 
the  following  questions,  most  of  which,  even  the  youngest 


SI  2  THE    WAY    TO    DO    GOOD.  [Ch.  10. 

Various  questions. 

child,  who  had  once  read  and  appreciated  the  story,  would 
readily  answer,  shows  how  much  moral  truth,  such  a  nar- 
rative, when  fully  appreciated,  may  be  the  means  of  de- 
veloping in  the  mind. 

What  did  the  sin  of  these  men  chiefly  consist  in, — the 
feelings,  or  the  words,  or  the  actions? 

Did  Korah  commit  any  wicked  act?  Did  Dathan  and 
Abiram? 

Did  they  not  all  commit  sin  in  feeling? 
What  is  the  name  for  the  kind  of  feelings  they  had?     A 
rebellious  spirit. 

Do  children  ever  feel  a  rebellious  spirit?  Against 
whom  ? 

Do  they  ever  feel  the  rebellious  spirit  when  they  do  not 
manifest  it  in  actions?  When  they  do  not  express  it  in 
words  ? 

What  reasons  are  there  that  prevent  their  expressing  or 
acting  it,  when  they  have  the  feeling? 

Can  a  rebellious  spirit  be  expressed  by  looks  as  well  as 
by  actions?  Do  children  ever  express  it  so?  By  what 
sort  of  looks  ? 

Is  the  rebellious  spirit  a  pleasant  or  a  painful  feeling? 
Were  Korah,  Dathan,  and  Abiram  happy  probably,  while 
rebelling?  Would  they  have  been  happy  if  they  had  suc- 
ceeded in  what  they  wanted  to  do? 

The  proposing  of  questions  like  these,  might  be  the  best 
way  of  bringing  out  the  truth  contained  in  the  narrative, 
or  suggested  by  it,  if  the  pupils  are  children,  whether  they 
are  gathered  in  numbers  arounti  their  teacher  at  the  Sab- 
bath school,  or  sit  upon  their  father's  knees,  to  look  over, 
while  he  reads  the  story  from  the  great  family  bible,  at  the 
chimney  corner.  If  the  audience  is  mature,  the  same 
points  would  be  brought  to  view, — the  same  moral  analysis 
of  the  story,  though  the  results  would  receive  an  expression 
in  language  in  a  somewhat  different  manner.     The  ques- 


Ch.    lO.J  INStRUCTlON.  '  313 


Moral  lessons  to  be  deduced. 


tions  we  have  given  above,  have  by  no  means  exhausted 
the  subject.  There  are  many  other  moral  instructions  to 
be  deduced  from  the  narrative.  Moses,  for  example,  in 
verse  11,  considers  the  rebellion  as  against  the  Lord. 
This  naturally  leads  the  mind  to  the  consideration,  that 
Moses  and  Aaron,  being  appointed  by  God,  were  clothed 
with  his  authority,  and  that  opposition  against  them  was 
rebellion  against  Him.  This,  properly  illustrated  and  ex- 
plained, will  set  in  a  very  striking  light  before  children, 
why  a  rebellious  spirit  against  their  parents,  even  if  shown 
only  by  looks,  or  not  expressed  outwardly  at  all,  is  a  sin, 
not  merely  against  their  parents,  but  against  God.  Then 
there  is  the  subject  of  punishment,  too;  the  evil  and  the 
danger  resulting  from  such  conduct  making  punishment  of 
it  necessary,  and  the  great  guilt  of  it,  making  a  severe 
punishment  of  it  just;  and  so  with  a  great  many  other 
subjects  of  inquiry  and  reflection,  so  numerous  and  full, 
that  the  space  allotted  to  this  whole  chapter  would  scarcely 
afford  room  for  a  brief  enumeration  of  them. 

It  is  not  that  such  a  passage  directly  teaches  all  these 
truths,  or  that  they  can  be  logically  deduced  from  them, — 
nor  that  they  merely  suggest  them  as  principles  to  be 
proved.  The  narrative  calls  up  the  principles  to  the  mind, 
as  principles  intuitively  perceived  to  be  true.  They  are  to 
be  expressed  by  the  voice  of  the  teacher,  knowing  that  the 
expression  of  them  will  be  re-echoed  and  confirmed  to  the 
pupil,  by  a  voice  within.  There  are,  indeed,  moral  and 
religious  truths  which  must  be  proved,  but  we  do  not  speak 
of  them  here.  We  speak  now,  of  a  thousand  principles  of 
right  and  wrong,  that  are  brought  to  view  in  the  narratives 
of  the  Scriptures,  and  which  need  no  proof  Apprehension 
of  them  is  conviction.  Some  are  found  by  the  mind  in  the 
narrative,  others,  the  narrative  draws  forth  out  of  the  mind. 
So  that  in  some  respects,  the  story  is  the  storehouse  which  . 
the  mind  explores  for  moral  treasures;  in  others,  the  store- 
house is  the  mind,  and  the  book  the  instrument  of  admission. 
27 


314  THE    WAY    TO    DO    GOOD.  [Ch.    10 


Two  kinds  of  interest  in  a  story. 


We  have  taken  this  single  case,  and  dwelt  upon  it,  to 
show  how  minutely  and  fully,  the  individual  passages  of 
Scripture  should  be  explored  as  mines  of  moral  and  reli- 
gious truth.  I  need  not  say  that  the  whole  bible,  examin- 
ed thus,  would  furnish  an  inexhaustible  store. 

All  persons,  both  old  and  young,  will  take  a  far  greater 
interest  in  the  moral  aspects  and  bearings  of  the  Scripture 
histories,  than  they  do  in  the  mere  incidents  of  the  narra- 
tive; or  rather  the  incidents  and  the  narrative  itself  will 
excite  interest  just  in  proportion  as  the  moral  meaning  is 
seen  through  them.  Teachers  of  the  young  often  overlook 
this, — they  bring  Scripture  narrative  before  their  pupils, 
simply  as  a  history  of  occurrences,  and  a  great  portion  of 
the  force,  and  point  and  beauty  lying  beneath  the  surface, 
is  not  seen. 

For  example,  take  the  story  of  Job.  We  may  present 
it  in  two  totally  different  ways,  to  a  class  of  little  children. 
Suppose,  for  the  first  experiment,  we  gather  the  little 
pupils  around  us,  and  read  them  the  account  of  Job's 
prosperity,  accompanying  it  with  familiar  explanations. 
We  tell  them  how  many  sheep,  and  oxen,  and  camels  he 
had,  and  help  them  to  picture  to  their  minds  some  idea  of 
his  mode  of  life,  and  of  the  appearance  of  his  vast  herds, 
and  numerous  household.  They  are  highly  interested. 
Their  curiosity,  and  imagination,  and  wonder  are  strongly 
excited.  Then  you  read  to  them,  the  account  of  his  suc- 
cessive losses.  You  describe  the  incursions  of  the  enemy, 
and  the  effects  of  the  lightning,  and  bring  home  clearly  to 
the  minds  of  the  pupils,  the  terrific  scenes  alluded  to  in  the 
description.  The  children  are  all  intensely  interested  in 
it,  as  in  a  dreadful  tragedy.  At  the  close,  perhaps,  you 
say  that  Job  did  not  repine  against  God,  notwithstanding 
all  these  calamities; — that  he  was  patient  and  submissive, 
and  we  ought  all  to  follow  his  example. 

Thus  the  interest  awakened  in  the  minds  of  the  children, 
is  an  interest  in  the  story,  as  a  narration  of  wonderful  ' 


Ch.    10.]  INSTRUCTION.  315 

Example.  .Tob.  The  dramatic  interest. 

incidents.  The  moral  bearing  of  it,  is  but  slightly  alluded 
to,  and  the  whole  impression  made  by  it,  is  upon  the 
imagination,  and  not  upon  the  heart. 

We  turn  now  to  the  opposite  course,  viz.  passing  lightly 
over  the  incidents,  and  bringing  out  fully  to  view,  the 
moral  meaning  of  the  story.  With  the  same,  or  a  similar 
little  auditory  around  you,  you  begin  by  telling  them  of 
Job's  vast  possessions,  in  general  terms,  and  then  saying 
that  God  determined  to  take  them  all  away,  in  order  to  try 
him,  and  see  whether  he  would  bear  it  submissively  and 
patiently. 

"  Do  you  know  what  submissively  and  patiently,  means?" 

"Yes,  sir."  "No,  sir." 

"  Why,  suppose  one  of  you  should  have  a  beautiful 
picture  book,  and  when  you  were  sitting  down  by  the  fire, 
to  read  it,  your  mother  should  say,  '  Come,  I  must  put 
that  book  away  now;  I  want  you  to  go  to  bed;'  what  do 
you  think  you  should  do  or  say.''  -' 
Hl^A  pause. 

"  Perhaps  you  do  not  know  exactly  what  you  would  do 
or  say,  but  you  may  tell  me  what  a  bad  child  might  do  or 
say,  in  such  a  case.     Any  one  may  tell  me." 

"  He  might  begin  to  cry." — "  He  might  say,  '  I  want 
to  sit  up  a  little  longer,  very  much.' "  "  He  might  say,  *  I 
wont.'  " 

"Yes,  and  a  boy  who  was  patient  and  submissive,  would 
shut  up  the  book  pleasantly,  and  bring  it  to  his  mother, 
and  say,  'Very  well.'  Now,  do  you  all  understand  what 
patient  and  submissive  means .?  " 

"Yes,  sir." 

"  Well,  then  we  will  go  on  with  the  story  of  Job.  God 
took  away  all  his  property,  to  try  him,  and  see  whether  he 
would  be  patient  and  submissive,  or  not.  He  wanted  to 
see  what  he  would  say." 

Then  read  and  explain  the  accounts  of  the  calamities  by 
which  Job  was  reduced  to  poverty  and  wretchedness,  in 


316  THE    WAY    TO    DO    GOOD.  [Ch.  10 

The  moral  interest.  Both  combined. 

such  a  way  as  to  awaken  their  sympathy  for  him,  and  their 
curiosity  in  respect  to  its  effect  upon  his  mind. 

"Thus,"  you  say  in  conclusion,  *' all  his  flocks  and 
herds  were  carried  away,  and  his  children  were  killed,  and 
his  servants  taken  captive  or  destroyed," — 

•'AH  excepting  the  men  who  escaped  to  tell  him." 

"  Yes,  they  were  saved,  it  is  true.  Now,  what  do  you 
think  Job  said? — do  you  know.'*  " 

•'No,  sir." 

•'It  was  something  very  remarkable.  It  showed  at 
once,  whether  he  was  patient  and  submissive,  or  not.  It 
was  something  very  remarkable,  indeed.  People  have 
repeated  it  a  great  many  times  since,  when  they  have  lost 
something  which  they  valued  very  much.     It  was  this, 

"  'The  Lord  gave,  and  the  Lord  hath  taken  away: 
blessed  be  the  name  of  the  Lord.'  " 

A  pause. 

"  It  was  just  as  if  the  child  whose  mother  had  taken 
away  his  beautiful  book,  should  say,  as  he  was  going  up 
stairs  with  the  candle  in  his  hand ;  '  My  mother  gave  me 
the  book,  and  my  mother  has  taken  it  away,  I  will  not 
complain  of  my  mother.' — Should  you  not  think  that  would 
be  a  patient  and  submissive  boy?" 

Now,  in  this  case,  it  is  plain  that  the  great  effort  has 
been  to  bring  out  the  moral  expression  of  the  story,  so  that 
children  can  see  and  appreciate  it.  But  we  have  not  de- 
tailed these  two  modes  of  explaining  the  same  story,  to  con- 
demn the  former;  but  only  to  show  how  completely  distinct  in 
its  nature,  an  interest  in  the  moral  bearing  of  a  narrative, 
is  from  an  interest  in  the  incidents,  considered  simply  as  a 
story.  Both  these  kinds  of  interest  ought  to  be  awakened; 
but  the  latter,  especially,  by  all  means.  For  it  is  the 
latter  alone,  which  can  give  to  the  study  of  the  bible,  any 
influence  on  the  affections  of  the  soul. 

Thus  the  bible  is  the  great   magazine  to  be  explored. 


Ch.  !0.]  INSTRUCTION.  ^tT. 

Third  general  head.  Observation. 

And  it  is  to  be  explored  in  this  way,  so  as  to  bring  out  to 
view  the  moral  and  religious  truth  taught  in  every  page  of 
it.  Excite  in  your  pupils  as  strong  a  dramatic  interest 
in  the  narrative  as  you  can,  but  let  all  this  interest  be 
concentrated  upon  the  moral  principles,  of  which  the  nar- 
rative is  intended  to  be  an  expression. 

3.  The  field  of  observation  and  experience  is  to  be 
explored  for  the  means  of  enforcing  and  applying  religious 
truth  in  the  most  effectual  manner. 

The  habit  „o£jibserving  and  analyzing  timmaii-.  con  duct 
and  character,  and  reflecting  upon_it,  is  8|^  neces-     y^ 

sary  to  enable  us  to  command  the  avenues  to  the  hearf^i 
We  must  be  in  the  habit  of  noting  the  most  common  oc- 
currences^ and  of  tracing  them  back  to  the  springs  of 
action  from  which  they  rise.  Observe  the  moral  truths 
which  they  will  illustrate,  or  the  moral  principles  they 
exemplify,  and  reflect  upon  them  in  this  light,  in  your  hours 
of  meditation.  There  is  a  vast  diversity  in  different  minds 
in  this  respect,  produced  by  habit  or  by  different  degrees  of 
intellectual  culture.  One,  in  looking  upon  the  scenes  of 
daily  life  which  are  exhibited  before  him,  perceives  only 
what  comes  to  the  eye  or  the  ear.  Another,  traces  back 
the  most  common  occurrences  to  their  origin;  and  the 
exercise,  which  was,  perhaps,  at  first,  a  study,  becomes 
ere  long,  a  habit,  and  at  length  the  whole  panorama  of 
life  seems,  to  such  a  mind,  alive  with  the  expression  of 
those  moral  principles  and  laws  of  which  it  is,  in  fact,  the 
acting  out,  though  not  seen  to  be  so  by  the  common  ob- 
server. The  ordinary  exhibitions  of  human  action,  though 
opaque,  and  tame,  and  spiritless  to  others,  are  bright  and 
transparent  to  him.  He  sees  a  spiritual  world  through  the 
external  one,  and  the  spectacle  which  thus  exhibits  itself 
all  around  him,  is  clothed  thus  with  a  double  interest  and 
splendor. 
27* 


318  THE   WAY   TO   00    GOOD.  [Ch.   10, 


Effect  of  a  habit  of  observation. 


This  habit  once  formed,  every  thing  becomes  expressive, 
to  the  mind  that  has  formed  it.  The  attitude  and  manner 
of  a  man  says  something  of  his  character.  A  conversation 
in  a  stage  coach,  on  any  ordinary  topic,  brings  to  the  view 
of  the  observer,  the  operation  of  many  principles  of  human 
nature,— and  the  actions  of  a  group  of  children  at  play, 
will  reveal  to  him  their  respective  dispositions,  or  exhibit' 
in  interesting  lights,  the  various  propensities  of  childhood; 
while  another,  looking  upon  the  same  scene,  would  see 
nothing  in  it,  but  unmeaning  frolicksomeness  and  confu- 
sion. 

In  the  same  manner,  the  events,  and  incidents,  and 
individual  history  which  exhibit  themselves  in  our  progress 
through  life,  as  well  as  the  various  phases  which  human 
conduct  presents  to  us  from  day  to  day,  ought  to  be  studied 
with  reference  to  the  moral  principles  which  lie  at  the 
foundation  of  them.  All  human  character  and  conduct  is 
but  the  acting  out  of  inward  principle,  and  the  events  and 
occurrences  of  life  are  determined  by  a  combination  of 
movements  in  the  moral  and  intellectual  world,  from  which 
they  derive  all  their  interest  to  us,  as  rational  beings.  It 
is  in  the  development  of  these,  that  we  should  be  most 
interested.  It  is  the  common,  and  the  universal  too,  not 
the  extraordinary,  which  should  interest  us  most  strongly. 
A  vulgar  eye  stares  at  the  strange,  the  monstrous,  the 
wonderful.  A  trunk  of  a  tree,  twisted  into  the  rude  re- 
semblance of  a  man,  pleases  it  more  than  if  it  grows  into 
its  own  prefer  form,  and  exhibits  its  own  proper  expres- 
sion: and  it  loves  the  gaudy  deformities  of  excessive  cul- 
tivation, rather  than  the  simple  elegance  of  the  natural 
flower.  Carrying  the  same  principle  into  its  observations 
upon  human  life,  it  sees  nothing  to  interest  it  in  the  beautiful 
operations  of  ordinary  cause  and  effect, —the  healthful,  quiet, 
natural  expression  with  which  all  the  movements  of  society 
beam.  It  is  only  the  extraordinary  development,  the  com- 
plicated plot,  the  catastrophe,  the  escape,  the  wonderful, 


Ch.  10.]  ..?!«.     iNSTROcriaN.  319 

Refined  and  vulgar  taste. 

the  horrible,  which  can  arrest  its  attention; — the  true 
philosopher  derives  a  far  higher  pleasure,  in  reading  the 
meaning  of  every  thing  around  him.  The  latter  is  pleased 
with  discerning,  in  common  events,  the  operation  of  an 
Universal  Cause;  and  in  an  accidental  interruption,  he  is 
interested  chiefly  in  observing  the  new  influence,  whose 
intervention  produced  it.  The  other  is  pleased  only  with 
accidents,  and  with  them,  only,  because  they  are  strange. 
The  less  he  understands  them,  the  greater  his  delight,  for 
the  very  essence  of  his  delight  is  surprise  and  wonder. 

Now  do  not  study  the  varied  scene  of  life,  which  exhibits 
itself  around  you,  in  this  way.  Make  it  your  aim,  not 
merely  to  see  what  is  visible  to  the  eye,  but  to  read  its 
hidden  meaning,  and  take  pleasure,  not  in  novelty  and 
strangeness,  but  in  the  clearness  with  which  you  under- 
stand and  appreciate  every  common  phenomenon.  Be 
intimately  conversant  thus  with  a  moral  and  spiritual 
world,  to  which  the  external  one  around  you  will  be  the 
medium  of  access.  He  who  does  this,  will  find  his  mind 
filled  with  a  thousand  recollections  and  associations  that, 
by  means  of  a  power  which  is  neither  imagination  or 
memory,  but  something  between,  will  furnish  him  with 
illustrations  of  all  which  he  wishes  to  teach; — illustrations 
true  in  spirit,  though  imaginary  in  form. 

The  study  of  man  on  these  principles,  will  give  the 
Christian  who  pursues  it,  immense  facilities  for  instructing 
and  interesting  his  pupils  in  religious  truth.  For  he  will, 
by  such  means,  greatly  extend  his  knowledge  of  this  truth, 
in  all  its  thousand  ramifications,  and  ip  its  endless  connec- 
tions with  the  circumstances  of  life;  and  then  this  complete 
Tamiliarity  with  the  field,  will  give  him  an. independent  and 
original  freedom  of  hand  in  the  discussion  and  illustration 
of  truthj  which  nothing  else  can  supply.  Thoroughly 
fumidhedUhmi^^  of  the  Scriptures,  consider- 

ed as/a  great  storehouse  of  moral  truth,  and  with  know- 
ledge^Sf  man,  his  feelings,  his  habits,  his  principles  of 


320  THE   WAY    TO    DO    GOOD.  [Ch.   10. 

The  evidence  for  moral  truth. 

action,  and  the  thousand  changing  hues  which  human 
character  assumes,  he  may  go- freely  and  boldly  forward, 
and  will  be  prepared  to  labor  in  this  field  with  the  greatest 
success.  This  study  of  the  bible,  will  give  him  the  truth 
which  he  is  to  present,  and  his  study  of  man  will  open  to 
him  the  avenues  by  which  he  is  to  present  it. 

4.  The  admission  of  moral  truth  to  the  soul,  is  to  be 
secured  mainly  by  means  of  a  testimony  awakened  in  its 
favor  from  within. 

In  several  instances  in  the  course  of  this  work,  we  have 
had  occasion  to  refer  to  the  readiness  with  which  moral 
and  religious  truth  is  received  by  the  human  mind,  when 
properly  presented  to  it.  It  seems  to  carry  its  evidence 
within  itself,  or  rather,  it  finds  faculties  in  the  human  soul, 
so  well  qualified  to  judge  almost  instinctively  of  its  claims, 
and  so  predisposed  to  admit  them,  that  the  single  presenta- 
tion of  it,  seems  generally  to  secure  its  admission.  There 
is  a  sort  of  moral  intuition,  by  which  moral  beauty  and 
excellence  are  apprehended,  and  moral  truth  received. 

That  this  should  be  so,  follows  from  the  very  nature  of 
moral  truth.  It  does  not  consist  of  a  series  of  propositions, 
constructed  with  subject,  predicate  and  copula,  and  fol- 
lowing one  another  in  order,  like  the  successive  theorems 
of  the  science  of  Astronomy.  In  fact,  this  way  of  considering 
the  mathematical  sciences  is  altogether  artificial,  and  the 
necessity  of  it  results  from  the  feebleness  of  our  intellec- 
tual powers.  To  a  mind  that  could  look  upon  the  whole 
planetary  system,  with  powers  sufiicient  really  to  compre- 
hend the  mathematical  bearings  and  relations  of  the  whole, 
the  tendencies,  the  movements,  the  variations,  the  limits, 
— the  laws,  the  forces,  their  combination,  or  opposition,  or 
results,  would  appear  as  one  magnificent  and  harmonious 
whole,  and  would  be  seen  by  the  intellectual  eye  directly 
and  together.     Those  few  detached  and  separate  principles 


Ch.  10.]  INSTRUCTION.         ■  321 

Mathematical   truth. 

which  mathematicians  have  drawn  out,  and  expressed  as 
laws,  would  be  combined  in  the  view  with  those  thousand 
others  with  which  they  are  in  reality  blended,  and  the 
mind  would  survey  the  whole  complicated  sj'stem, — (we 
do  not  mean  the  system  of  visible  motions,  but  of  mathe- 
matical laws,) — as  the  eye  would  take  in  an  extended 
landscape  spread  out  before  it.  Thus  the  vast  and  com- 
plicated results,  which  we  have  to  deduce  one  by  one,  by 
means  of  our  laborious  computation,  would  be  directly 
perceived,  and  would  be  looked  upon  by  the  mind  as  one 
great  and  connected  reality,  and  not  as  a  few  detached 
and  artificial  propositions.  Our  intellectual  vision  is  not 
strong  enough  thus  to  grasp  the  higher  sciences;  and  so 
we  grope  our  way  from  one  detached  and  isolated  principle 
expressed  in  formal  language,  to  another,  wherever  we  can 
find  the  shortest  and  simplest  steps;  like  a  blind  man  in  a 
palace,  groping  along  by  the  aid  of  chairs  and  banisters, 
and  knowing  nothing  certainly,  excepting  the  few  separate 
objects  he  has  touched;  which,  few  and  scattered  as  they 
are,  prove  to  him,  from  their  position  and  character,  that 
he  is  in  the  midst  of  a  scene  of  magnificence  and  splendor 
which  he  can  never  fully  realize. 

It  is  so  with  all  other  sciences.  The  properties  of  a 
triangle  are  all  involved  in  the  very  nature  of  the  figure. 
If  our  minds  could  comprehend  that  nature  as  a  whole,  we 
should  see  all  these  properties  as  readily  and  directly  as 
we  now  perceive  that  there  must  be  three  angles  if  there 
are  three  sides.  Unable,  however,  thus  to  grasp  the  whole 
at  a  single  view,  we  grope  our  way  to  a  few  detached  and 
separate  principles,  by  a  toilsome,  and  slow,  and  cautious 
ratiocination.  Reasoning,  therefore,  step  by  step,  from 
premises  to  conclusion,  is  the  resort  of  a  limited  mind 
when  its  higher  powers  fail,  and  its  detached  and  limited 
results  are  but  substitutes  for  more  comprehensive  know- 
ledge. Still,  the  exercise  of  it  may  be,  as  indeed  it  is,  an 
exhibition  of  the  noblest  and  greatest  efforts  of  the  human 


THE    WAY   TO    DO    GOOD-  [Ch.  10. 

A  difterence  between  intellectual  and  moral  science. 

mind;  as  the  highest  effort  of  the  sagacity  of  a  blind  man, 
may  be  exhibited,  in  the  dexterity  with  which  he  makes  his 
way  in  a  crowded  city,  by  his  hearing  and  touch; — and 
yet,  after  all,  hearing  and  touch,  however  highly  cultivat- 
ed, are,  in  such  a  case,  but  an  imperfect  substitute  for 
vision.  rA   Inpiiaui 

Now,  we  must,  in  the  intellectual  sciences,  with  minds 
circumscribed  as  ours  are,  be  content  to  penetrate  the 
boundless  field  before  us,  only  in  a  narrow  path  like  this, 
passing  on  in  it  from  step  to  step,  by  cautious  ratio- 
cination. And  we  can  bring  our  pupil  to  any  point 
which  we  have  ourselves  attained,  only  by  leading  him 
cautiously  over  all  the  previous  steps  by  which  we  had 
attained  it.  But  it  is  not  so  with  moral  truth.  Each 
subordinate  portion  seems  to  bring  with  it  its  own  testi- 
mony, and  to  stand  independent  of  the  rest.  There  are  a 
th(2vusand  connections,  it  is  true,  by  which  all  the  parts  are 
blended  into  one  harmonious  whole,  but  each  carries  its 
own  evidence  within  itself,  and  needs  only  to  be  appre- 
hended, in  order  to  be  believed. 

This  would  be  true  without  limitation  or  exception,  were 
it  not  for  the  influence  of  passion  and  sin  which  produce 
moral  blindness,  and  cut  off  the  view  of  moral  truth  from 
the  soul.  The  very  way,  however,  by  which  these  operate, 
in  shutting  any  moral  principles  from  the  mind,  illustrates 
what  we  have  said;  for  they  produce  these  effects,  not  by 
incapacitating  the  mind  from  following  any  trains  of  rea- 
soning by  which  the  principle  might  be  sustained,  but  by 
rendering  it  insensible  to  its  intrinsic  excellence  and  beauty 
Our  great  work,  therefore,  is,  as  we  have  said  often  before, 
to  present  truth,  rather  than  to  prove  it  to  man.  We  are  to 
gain  access  for  it  around,  or  under,  or  over,  or  through  the 
prejudices  and  sins  which  oppose  its  admission; — then  we 
are  to  present  it  in  its  own  intrinsic  excellence  and  beauty, 
and  exhibit  it  in  its  details  and  in  its  applications,  confident 
that  if  it  is  perceived,  it  will  commend  itself,  and  be  estab- 


Ch.   10.]  .<T«.    INSTRUCTION.  323 

Apparent  exceptions.  Proof  of  Christianity. 

lished  by  its  own  intrinsic  character,  rather  than  by  any 
train  of  ratiocination  by  which  it  may  be  shown  to  result 
logically  from  established  premises. 

This  is  true  in  regard  to  a  great  many  cases,  which 
might,  at  first,  appear  as  exceptions.  There  is,  for  exam- 
ple, the  evidence  of  the  truth  of  Christianity.  We  are 
accustomed  to  see  it  presented  in  a  well  connected  train  of 
argument,  which  proceeds  from  what  is  admitted  as  pre- 
mises, to  the  result  finally  arrived  at  as  conclusion.  But  in 
point  of  fact,  we  shall  generally  find,  that  though  such  an 
argument  maybe  constructed,  it  is  not  the  force  of  it  which 
generally  determines  the  faith  of  Christians,  nor  does  it 
even  materially  affect  that  faith.  The  true  ground  on 
which  Christianity  is  received,  where  it  is  really  received, 
is  a  perception  of  its  moral  features,  by  a  mind  spiritually 
sensible  of  them.  It  commends  itself  to  the  moral  wants 
of  the  soul,  and  where  these  moral  wants  are  felt,  Chris- 
tianity is  received  by  a  process  much  shorter  than  Lard- 
ner's.  Tn  other  cases,  Christianity  is  not  really  believed. 
The  education  or  the  habits  of  the  individual  may  be  such, 
that  he  does  not  choose  to  deny  its  truth,  but  he  does  not 
really  receive  it.  The  argument,  at  least,  does  not  con- 
vince him.  If,  in  any  case,  it  seems  to  have  some  effect, 
it  is  mainly  by  its  moral  influence  in  bringing  the  claims 
of  religion  in  their  true  character,  fairly  before  the  mind. 

It  is  in  accordance  with  this  view  of  the  subject,  that 
the  various  illustrations  with  which  this  work  and  its  pre- 
decessors abound,  are  given  to  the  reader.  They  are 
offered,  not  as  arguments,  but  simply  as  aids  to  apprehen- 
sion, in  cases  where  the  thought,  if  apprehended,  will 
commend  itself  Facts  may  be  sometimes  stated  as  evi- 
dence; as  for  example,  when  a  chemist  informs  us  that  he 
subjected  silex  to  a  certain  degree  of  heat,  and  it  was 
fused.  If  we  believe  his  testimony,  we  learn,  from  his 
statement  of  the  fact,  that  silex  is  fusible  at  the  specified 
temperature.     In  such  a  case,  every  thing  depends  on  the 


324  THE    WAY    TO    DO    GOOD.  [Ch.    10.  > 

Proof  by  experiment.  -  Illustrations. 

authority  of  the  observer,  and  this  on  the  accuracy  and 
faithfulness  of  his  observations  We  know  nothing  about 
the  subject,  except  what  he  informs  us.  There  is  no  in- 
trinsic evidence  in  the  case;  and  all  the  value  of  the 
chemist's  information,  depends  upon  the  fusion  having 
actually  taken  place  in  that  particular  instance,  and  under 
the  circumstances  described.  But  an  illustration  of  any 
moral  principle,  though  in  the  form  of  a  reported  fact,  is 
altogether  different  in  its  nature.  I'ake,  for  instance,  the 
story  of  the  boys  on  the  ice,  to  illustrate  the  nature  and 
effects  of  sin  and  confession,  in  the  first  chapter  of  the 
Young  Christian.  Its  object  is  not  to  prove  that  sin  will 
burden  the  mind,  and  confession  relieve  it,  from  the  result 
of  the  experiment  in  that  one  case.  Its  object  is  not  to 
prove  the  truth,  but  only  to  make  a  clear  exhibition  of  it. . 
For  its  reception,  we  rely  on  a  testimony  in  its  favor  in  the 
mind  of  every  reader.  So  that  the  appeal  is  not  to  the 
authority  of  experiment,  but  to  the  authority  of  every  man's 
consciousness,  in  respect  to  the  operations  of  moral  causes 
upon  the  human  mind.  It  follows,  therefore,  that  while  in 
the  chemical  example,  we  must  have  the  most  unquestion- 
able evidence  that  the  experiment  was  actually  performed, 
and  performed  exactly  as  reported, — in  the  moral  one,  it 
is  of  no  consequence  whether  it  was  or  was  not  ever 
performed  at  all.  An  illustration  of  a  moral  principle  or 
truth,  intended  only  to  exhibit  something  which  is  to 
prove  itself  when  exhibited,  if  it  is  true  to  human  nature,  •, 
may  be  as  well  imaginary  as  real ;  for  it  is  evidently  of  no  t. 
consequence,  whether  the  occurrence  described,  ever  took 
place  or  not,  provided  that  its  only  object  is  to  bring  before 
the  mind,  the  elements  or  materials  upon  which  the  mind^ 
is  aflerwards  lefl  at  liberty  to  judge. 

Moral  truth,  may,  indeed,  sometimes  be  proved  by  the 
adduction  of  facts, — results  of  experiment.  But  this  is  a 
very  slow  and  toilsome  process.     **  Facts,"  it  is  said,  by  a 


Ch.   10.]  INSTRUCTION,  325 

Difficulty  of  sound  induction.  Truth  accessible. 

common  proverb,  "are  stubborn  things:"  to  this,  it  has 
been  very  properly  replied,  that  they  are  the  most  pliant, 
flexible,  uncertain  things  that  the  human  intellect  has  to 
deal  with.  Even  in  the  physical  world,  it  is  far  more 
difficult  than  is  ordinarily  imagined,  to  establish  any  truth 
by  a  legitimate  induction.  Do  the  various  positions  of  the 
moon,  in  her  monthly  revolution,  affect  the  changes  of  the 
weather.'*  To  settle  such  a  question  by  a  series  of  obser- 
vations, made  with  such  accuracy,  and  perseverance,  and 
care,  as  really  to  settle  it,  will  require  a  vigilance  and  a 
labor,  which  those  who  are  not  accustomed  to  philosophi- 
cal inquiries,  would  be  slow  to  anticipate.  But  in  the 
moral  world,  the  difficulty  is  incomparably  greater;  and 
though  it  is  very  often  the  case,  that  writers  attempt  to 
prove  the  wisdom  of  plans,  or  the  efficacy  of  measures  for 
the  promotion  of  piety,  by  an  induction  of  facts,  to  prove 
their  success  on  experiment, — ^yet  these  facts  are  seldom 
sufficient  to  establish  the  point  according  to  the  principles 
of  philosophical  induction. 

It  is  pleasant  to  reflect  how  close  at  hand,  God  has 
placed  all  the  moral  and  religious  truth  necessary  for 
human  salvation.  If  labored  reasoning  had  been  necessa- 
ry to  establish  it,  how  many  millions,  even  in  a  civilized 
and  Christian  land,  must  have  lived  and  died  in  hopeless 
ignorance;  but  God  has  provided  better  for  the  wants  and 
dangers  of  humanity.  He  has  so  adapted  the  constitution 
of  the  human  mind  to  the  immutable  and  eternal  principles 
of  right  and  wrong,  that  our  great  work  is  simply  to  mani- 
fest them,  in  order  to  have  them  received;  and  where  they 
are  rejected,  it  is  sin,  not  intellectual  incapacity,  thai 
causes  their  exclusion. 

5.  Attempts  to  remove  error  by  argument  or  personal 
controversy,  are  almost  always  in  vain. 
2S 


326  THE    WAY    TO    DO    GOOD.  [Ch.    10. 

Arguing  with  error.  First  case. 

Sometimes  when  we  argue,  we  are  not  arguing  with 
error  at  all.  We  aim  directly  at  the  establishment  of  the 
truth,  and  that  without  supposing  in  our  hearer  any  ten- 
dency to  error.  As  when,  for  example,  one  young  man 
presents  to  another,  in  a  walk,  the  evidence  in  favor  of  the 
immortality  of  the  soul,  which  he  may  have  collected;  not 
as  a  means  of  combatting  his  errors,  but  of  confirming  and 
establishing  his  belief  of  the  truth.  Parents  often  thus 
argue  with  their  children,  and  pastors  with  their  people. 
They  attempt  to  prove  the  truth,  feeling  all  the  time  that 
their  hearers  go  along  with  them  easily,  wishing  to  have  it 
proved.  It  is  obvious  that  there  are  few  dangers  or  diffi- 
culties here.  The  speaker  and  hearers  are  agreed.  They 
are  travelling  a  road  which  they  all  wish  to  travel;  the  fol- 
lowers looking  up  to  the  leader  as  a  guide.  Under  such 
circumstances,  there  must  be  some  extraordinary  clumsi- 
ness or  infelicity,  to  create  any  difficulty  by  the  way. 

Again,  in  other  cases,  we  argue  not  for  th6  truth,  but 
against  error,  our  hearers,  however,  being,  as  before,  unbi- 
assed, and  willing  to  be  led  wherever  our  arguments  may 
carry  them.  Here  there  is  a  little  greater  danger  than  in 
the  other  case,  for  error  is  dangerous  to  meddle  with  in 
any  way.  First,  there  is  danger  that  our  mere  statement 
of  the  error  will  introduce  it;  in  accordance  with  the  prin- 
ciple that  we  have  often  alluded  to,  in  the  course  of  this 
work,  that  statements  have  more  influence  generally  upon 
the  human  mind  than  reasoning.  An  idea  presented,  will 
often  enter  and  remain,  bidding  defiance  to  all  the  exor- 
cisms of  argument  and  appeal,  by  which  the  introducer  of 
it  in  vain  attempts  to  get  it  out  again.  Then,  also,  by  the 
violence  with  which  we  assail  an  opinion  and  its  advocates, 
we  may  create  a  sympathy  in  their  favor,  and  lead  our 
hearers  to  take  their  side; — on  the  principle  which  leads 
us  often  to  take  part  with  the  absent  and  undefended, 
whether  right  or  wrong.  Thus,  while  we  imagine  that  our 
hearers  are  admiring  the  havoc  our  intellectual  cannon  is 


Ch.   10.]  INSTRUCTION.  327 

Another  case.  Great  forces  to  be  overcome. 

making  in  the  battlements  of  the  enemy,  they  are  in  fact, 
secretly  stealing  over  to  the  aid  of  the  fortress  assailed. 
In  these  and  similar  ways,  we  may,  while  combatting  error, 
enlist  some  of  the  feelings  of  human  nature  in  its  favor, — 
feelings  stronger  than  allegiance  to  logic  and  reasoning. 
These  dangers,  however,  serious  as  they  are,  we  must  not 
now  dwell  upon,  but  pass  to  a  third  case. 

We  sometimes  argue  directly  with  those  holding  erro- 
neous opinions.  This  is  what  we  intend  by  the  phrase, 
"attempting  to  remove  error  by  argument,"  placed  at  the 
head  of  this  part  of  the  chapter.  Here  lies  the  great  dif- 
ficulty and  danger.  The  attempt  to  convince  man  of  error 
is  the  most  delicate  and  hazardous  of  all  the  modes  of  ac- 
tion of  mind  upon  mind.  By  saying  it  is  delicate,  I  do  not 
mean  that  it  is  a  nice  operation.  The  forces  are  not  small 
and  weak,  requiring  nice  attention  and  adjustment  to  de- 
velop them.  They  are,  on  the  contrary,  great  and  uncon- 
trolable.  There  is  the  mighty  power  of  truth,  on  one  side, 
and  the  still  mightier  power  of  error,  on  the  other.  There 
is  habit  with  its  iron  chain,  and  prejudice  and  passion,  with 
their  swift  current,  and  pride  with  its  strong  walls,  and 
falsehood  and  inconsistency  like  heaps  of  rubbish.  These 
you  have  to  overcome  and  remove.  You  have,  indeed,  on 
yo«r  side,ihe  clear  silent  light  of  reason,  and  the  voice  of 
consci^ce, — powerful  enough  to  conquer  any  thing  else; 
but  pride,  and  passion,  and  habit  will  conquer  them. 

When  the  speaker  has  a  willing  auditor,  his  work  is 
easy;  but  when  he  has  one  to  lead  along  in  the  way  in 
which  he  does  not  wish  to  go,  his  work  is  all  but  hopeless. 
Established  opinions  are,  indeed,  sometimes  changed, — but 
not  often  by  reasoning.  New  associations, — the  slow  in- 
fluence of  altered  circumstances,— the  change  effected  in 
the  whole  character  of  the  soul,  by  real  conviction  of  sin, — 
these  and  similar  causes,  affecting  the  feelings  more  than 
the  reasoning  powers,  often  subdue  pride,  and  break  down 
obstinacy,  and  undermine  long  established  errors.     And  so 


328  THE    WAY   TO   DO    GOOT3.  [Ch.    10. 

DangerL.  Practical  directions.  The  strange  light. 

does,  sometimes,  it  must  be  acknowledged,  the  power  of 
naked  reasoning; — sometimes, — but  yet  seldom. 

Still,  there  are  many  cases  where  argument  helps  and 
hastens  the  abandonment  of  error.  Perhaps,  however, 
it  as  often  only  confirms  its  dominion.  And  yet  many 
persons,  especially  the  young,  are  eager  to  engage  in  it. 
Experience  generally  gives  us  more  sober  expectations  of 
success  from  it,  but  in  early  life  we  are  always  ready  for 
the  combat.  By  faithfully  studying  and  understanding  and 
adopting  the  following  principles,  our  readers  will  avoid 
many  of  the  dangers  of  such  conflicts,  and  will  somewhat 
increase  the  faint  hopes  of  success. 

(I.)  Understand  fully  the  position  taken  by  the  friend 
whose  errors  you  wish  to  correct.  You  must,  to  do  this, 
go  to  him  as  it  were,  and  see  with  his  eyes.  Remember 
that  error  appears  reasonable  to  all  who  embrace  it.  It  is 
a  fallacious  reasonableness,  I  grant,  but  it  appears  real. 
Now  you  must  see  this  fallacious  reasonableness  yourself, 
or  you  cannot  understand  the  light  in  which  the  subject 
stands,  in  the  mind  you  are  endeavoring  to  reach.  If,  in- 
stead of  this,  we  keep  at  a  distance,  and  fulminate  expres- 
sions of  reprobation  at  a  man's  errors,  and  of  astonishment 
at  his  inconsistency  and  wickedness  in  holding  them,  we 
may  gratify  our  own  censoriousness  and  spiritual  pride,  but 
can  do  him  no  good. 

"Father,"  says  a  little  child,  sitting  on  his  cricket  by 
the  fireside,  on  a  winter  evening:  "Father,  I  see  a  light, 
a  strange  light  out  the  window,  over  across  the  road.'* 

"  Nonsense,  you  silly  child,  there  is  no  house  across  the 
road,  and  there  can  be  no  light  there  this  time  of  night." 

"But  I  certainly  see  one,  father,  a  large  bright  light." 

"No  such  thing,"  insists  the  father,  "It  cannot  be  so. 
There  is  nothing  over  there  that  can  burn.  I  can  see  out 
of  the  window  myself,  and  it  is  all  a  white  field  of  snow." 

This  is  one  way  of  combatting  error.  The  boy  is  silenc- 
ed, not  convinced;  and  were  he  not  awed  by  parental  au- 
thority, he  would  not  even  be  silenced. 


Ch.   10.]  INSTRUCTION.  329 

Two  ways  of  combatting  error. 

"  Where?"  says  another  father,  in  a  similar  case.  And 
though  from  his  own  chair,  he  can  see  the  field,  across  the 
road,  he  goes  to  the  child,  and  putting  his  eye  close  to  his 
son's,  says,  "Where  ? — let  me  see?" 

*'Ah,  I  see  it: — well,  now,  walk  slowly  with  me,  up  to 
the  window." 

Thus  he  leads  the  boy  up  and  shows  him  the  grounds  of 
his  illusion,  in  a  reflection  of  the  fire  from  a  pane  of  glass. 

Now,  this  is  the  proper  way  of  correcting  error.  You 
must  first  see  it,  as  the  friend  whose  opinions  you  wish  to 
correct,  sees  it.  It  has  its  specious  appearances.  There 
are  positions,  towards  which  it  presents  reasonable,  though 
fallacious  aspects.  Now  you  can  do  your  friend  no  good, 
you  cannot  sympathize  with  him,  you  cannot  understand 
him,  you  cannot  advance  a  step  in  reasoning  with  him, 
unless  you  first  go  and  put  your  intellectual  eye  where  his  is. 

It  is  no  matter  what  the  opinions  are,  against  which  you 
contend,  you  cannot  contend  against  them  to  advantage, 
unless  you  understand  them,  and  you  cannot  really  under- 
stand them,  unless  you  perceive  them  as  they  are  perceived 
by  the  mind  which  they  possess.  If  you  do  not  perceive 
them  thus,  it  is  in  fact  something  else  that  you  perceive. 
If  any  opinion  seems  to  you  preposterous  and  absurd,  and 
only  such,  the  probability  is  that  you  could  do  no  good  to 
the  individual  who  holds  it,  by  discussion;  for  it  is  plain 
that  it  does  not  appear  preposterous  and  absurd  to  him, 
and,  therefore,  the  perception  which  you  attack,  is  not  the 
one  which  he  maintains.  It  may  be  the  same  in  name,  and 
somewhat  the  same  in  substance;  but  in  all  those  aspects 
and  relations  of  it  which  constitute  its  life,  and  give  it  its 
hold  upon  him,  it  is  diff"erent  to  you  from  what  it  is  to  him; 
and  your  discussion  will  be  an  angry  dispute,  in  which 
neither  will  understand  the  other. 

If,  therefore,  a  young  man,  in  referring  to  any  error,  as 
Atheism,  or  Deism,  or  disbelief  m  a  judgment  to  come, 
says,  '*'  It  seems  utterly  astonishing  to  me,  that  any  one  can 
28* 


1530  THE   WAY   TO   DO   GOOD.  [Ch.  10 

Collisions.  Misunderstandings.  Sympathy. 

believe  such  an  error.  I  do  not  see  what  he  can  possibly 
pay.  I  should  like  to  meet  with  one,  holding  it;  it  seems 
to  me  I  could  show  him  his  mistake:" — if,  I  say,  he  speaks 
thus,  it  is  pretty  safe  to  infer,  that  he  would  act  most  wisely 
by  letting  the  error  alone.  He  does  not  understand  it.  In 
a  discussion,  he  would  not  make  the  slightest  progress. 
There  would  be  a  violent  collision  between  him  and  his 
unbelieving  opponent,  from  which  he  would  recoil  in  a 
sort  of  maze,  like  a  moth  from  a  candle. 

If  he  says,  however, — "I  do  not  think  it  surprising  that 
such  a  man  should  be  a  Deist.  Considering  his  education, 
his  associates,  and  the  position  he  occupies,  I  can  see 
easily  how  the  subject  of  revealed  religion  should  present 
itself  in  such  a  way  to  his  mind,  as  to  lead  him  to  disbe- 
lieve it;"  if  he  says  that,  there  is  a  little  more  hope. 
There  is  some  ground  for  sympathy.  The  discussion  can 
have  a  beginning;  and  if  there  can  ever  be  hope  of  any 
progress,  it  is  in  such  a  case. 

No  one,  therefore,  can  be  qualified  to  attempt  to  lead 
any  soul  out  of  its  errors,  but  by  first  going  to  it,  in  them. 
You  must  understand  and  appreciate  the  subject  on  which 
men  err,  as  it  presents  itself  to  their  minds.  Perhaps  you 
will  shrink  from  doing  this.  It  requires  you,  you  will  say, 
for  the  time  being,  to  go  over  to  the  side  of  error,  and  look 
upon  it  with  favorable  eyes,  and  this  is  dangerous.  It 
is,  perhaps,  the  most  dangerous  work  which  we  can 
engage  in;  and  if  the  reader  should  consider  his  hope  of 
bringing  any  persons  out  of  the  wilds  of  error,  too  feeble 
to  justify  his  incurring  the  hazard  of  going  on  there  after 
them, — to  be  lost,  perhaps,  himself, — I  should  most  sin- 
cerely approve  of  his  caution.  But  then,  if  he  is  deterred 
by  this  danger  from  qualifying  himself  suitably  for  the  work, 
he  must  not  imdertake  it.  He  can  do  nothing  but  exhaust 
and  irritate  himself,  and  fix  his  friend  in  his  delusions  by 
attempting  to  argue  without  this  qualification. 

(2.)  You  must  not  only  go  to  the  intellectual  position 


Ch.    10.]  INSTRUCTION.  331 

fiffects  of  disputation.  Exaggeration. 

which  your  friend  occupies,  in  order  to  begin  the  discus- 
sion, but  you  must  keep  with  him  all  the  way.  You  draw 
him  out,  as  the  magnet  draws  out  the  iron,  by  keeping  in 
contact, — the  moment  you  break  from  him,  you  lose  him. 
You  can  do  nothing  at  a  distance,  for  arguments  have 
little  weight,  unless  the  heart  is  open  to  receive  them;  and 
candor,  good  humor,  and  intellectual  sympathy  are  neces- 
sary in  order  to  keep  the  heart  open. 

Now  it  is  very  hard  to  avoid  an  immediate  rupture,  the 
moment  you  enter  into  conversation  with  a  friend  upon  a 
subject  on  which  you  disagree.  The  course  of  things 
generally,  is,  that  as  soon  as  any  thing  like  discussion  is 
commenced,  each  party  recedes  as  far  as  possible  from  the 
other,  and  by  exaggeration,  and  overstatement,  and  pres- 
sing to  extremes,  they  get  to  as  great  a  distance  as  they 
can,  and  from  these  positions  which  they  have  respectively 
taken,  they  cannonade  one  another  with  merciless  violence, 
each  gravely  expecting  to  drive  the  other  over  to  himself. 
In  some  cases  of  moral  intercourse  between  mind  and 
mind,  there  may  properly  be  a  separation, — a  want  of 
sympathy.  As  where  a  man  is  rebuked  for  a  known  and 
admitted  sin,  or  denounced  for  opinions  which  carry  on 
the  face  of  them  their  own  condemnation,  and  are,  in 
fact,  only  pretended  opinions,  assumed  for  selfish  purposes. 
But  where  there  is  real  error,  where  the  mind  is  really 
deceived,  you  must  go  to  it,  and  lead  it  out;  you  must 
keep  with  it  all  the  way.  If  you  break  from  it,  it  falls  back 
again  into  a  worse  position  than  before. 

To  avoid  this,  you  must  not  overstate  any  fact,  or  ex- 
aggerate the  f(Trce  of  any  consideration  which  is  in  your 
favor,  nor  underrate  any  thing  which  your  antagonist  may 
advance.  Be  honest  and  candid.  Admit  the  force  of 
objections  and  difficulties;  listen  attentively  to  what  he 
says,  not  as  mere  matter  of  civility,  but  from  an  honest 
desire  to  know  exactly  how  the  subject  stands  in  his  mind. 
Do  not  be  in  haste  to  reply  to  what  he  says,  but  admit  its 


332  THE    WAY   TO   DO    GOOD.  [Ch.  10. 


Defending  error,  and  its  effects. 


force,  and  lake  it  into  consideration.  Thus  he  will  per- 
ceive that  your  object  is  not  victory,  but  truth;  and  as 
you  show  yourself  willing  to  lool^  candidly  at  the  whole 
subject,  he  will,  by  sympathy,  catch  the  same  spirit,  and 
you  will  thus  go  on  together.  As  long  as  you  can  thus 
keep  together,  you  may  perhaps  advance,  but  the  moment 
you  separate,  he  falls  back,  and  your  hold  over  him  is 
gone. 

(3.)  Avoid  arousing  your  friend,  by  opposition,  to  take 
ground  in  defence  of  his  opinions.     If  you  wish  to  fix  a 
man  most  firmly  on  either  side  of  any  question,  the  surest 
way  is  to  give  him  that  side  to  defend.     Hence  the  great 
danger  and  evil  of  discussions;   they  become  disputes,  and 
make  each  party  more  fixed  and  obstinate  than  before. 
Avoid,  therefore,  putting  your  friend  upon  his  defence,  or 
making  an  antagonist  of  him.     You  can  do  nothing  with 
an  antagonist.     If  he  adduces  an  argument,  or  states  a 
fact,  do  not  reply  to  it,  or  contradict  it;   but  on  the  other 
hand,  by  an  honest  question  or  two,  draw  it  out  more  fully, 
so  as  completely  to  possess  yourself  of  it,  as  it  stands  in 
his  mind.     If  it  is  weak,  do  not  make  him  think  it  strong, 
by  putting  him  on  the  defence  of  it.     If  it  is  strong,  do  not 
impress  it  upon  his  memory,  and  give  it  undue  importance, 
by  arguing  about  it.     In  either  case,  trust  to  the  great 
leading  considerations  which  you  have  to  adduce,  as  the 
means  of  overcoming  its  influence.     With   the    greatest 
circumspection,  you  will  find  it  all  but  impossible  to  pre- 
vent your  conversation  degenerating  into  a  dispute.     You 
may  read  and  understand  these  principles,  now,  and  admit 
their  reasonableness.     But  when  you  come  to  apply  them, 
you  will  find  an  almost  insurmountable  difficulty.     In  fact, 
the  reader  will  be  very  likely  to  say,  while  reading  these 
paragraphs,  that  the  rules  are   very  good  in  theory,  but 
impossible  to  be  kept  in  practice.     I  grant  it.     Or  at  least, 
P.allow  that  it  is  almost  impossible  to  preserve  them, — it  is 
certainly  almost  impossible,  in  endeavoring  to  convince  a 


Ch.  10.]  INSTRUCTION. 


Deal  in  great  arguments,  not  in  minute  details. 


friend  of  the  erroneousness  of  his  opinions,  to  avoid  arous- 
ing him  to  a  resolute  defence  of  them.  This  is  true,  no 
doubt,  and  it  is  only  saying  that  it  is  almost  impossible  to 
do  any  good,  by  reasoning  with  people  about  their  errors. 
(4.)  Make  it  your  great  object  to  present  to  your  friend, 
and  to  keep  before  his  mind,  those  great  leading  considera- 
tions on  which  the  evidence  of  the  truth  must  rest,  and  not 
to  discuss  with  him,  the  details,  and  difficulties,  and  objec- 
tions which  cluster  around  every  great  subject.  It  is  but 
a  few  great  considerations,  which  determine  the  conviction 
of  the  mind  in  all  cases.  The  truth  of  Christianity,  for 
instance,  rests,  in  the  mass  of  minds,  on  its  great,  visible, 
moral  effects,  and  not  on  the  details  of  that  complicated 
argument  which  researches  into  its  history  have  furnished, 
— nor  on  the  possession  of  satisfactory  answers  to  the 
thousand  objections  which  have  been  advanced.  It  is, 
indeed,  very  important  to  possess  these  answers.  There 
are  certain  occasions,  and  certain  purposes  for  which  they 
are  essentially  important.  But  in  such  discussions  as  we 
are  speaking  of  here,  the  more  exclusively  the  mind  that 
is  wrong  is  brought  to  look  upon  the  great  leading  con- 
siderations which  establish  the  truth,  the  better. 

We  are  very  prone  to  overrate  the  extent  to  which  it  is 
necessary  that  the^  many  difficulties  and  objections  which 
can  be  raised  against  the  truth,  should  be  met  and  answer- 
ed. They  must,  to  some  extent,  remain.  The  mind  is 
full  of  them  on  every  subject.  All  truth,  whether  believed 
or  disbelieved,  is  connected  with  difficulties  which  we 
cannot  remove.  The  most  common  doctrines  of  philoso- 
phy, such  as  that  sound  is  produced  by  aerial  vibrations, — 
and  that  the  blood  circulates, — and  that  cold  is  mere 
absence  of  heat, — and  many  other  most  unquestionable 
truths,  are  embarrassed  with  difficulties  which  it  is  very  hard 
to  solve.  The  course,  now,  for  a  wise  instructor  to  take  with 
his  class,  is  not  to  call  their  attention  too  much  to  these,  in 
vain  attempts  to  offer  satisfactory  solutions.     This  would 


334  THE   WAY   TO   DO    GOOD.  [Ch.  10. 

Faint  hopes  of  bucccbs.  Classes  of  reasoners. 

be  the  way  to  spread  doubt  and  uncertainty  over  their 
minds,  in  respect  to  the  whole  subject.  He  had  better, 
when  first  attempting  to  inculcate  the  truth,  admit  these 
difficulties,  and  acknowledge  their  force, — but  then  pre- 
sent the  great  leading  evidence,  which  is  sufficient  to 
establish  the  truth,  notwithstanding  them.  In  religious 
discussion,  we  should  do  the  same.  Our  great  object  is  to 
bring  forward  the  leading  considerations  which  balance 
the  scale  and  determine  conviction;  and  then  to  present 
these  to  the  mind,  and  make  as  little  reply  as  possible,  to 
the  counter  considerations  adduced  in  disproof.  Thus  you 
gain  a  double  advantage;  you  secure  the  presentation  of 
what  must  be  the  basis  of  conviction,  if  it  is  established  at 
all,  and  you  avoid  that  most  imminent  of  all  dangers,  put- 
ting your  friend  upon  the  defence  of  his  opinions,  which 
would  inevitably  confirm  him  in  them. 

These  principles,  if  understood  and  practised,  will 
perhaps  aid  a  little,  but  after  all,  we  can  promise  the  pri- 
vate Christian  very  little  success  in  his  efforts  to  do  good, 
by  reasoning  with  error.  There  are  a  thousand  difficulties 
and  obstructions  in  the  way  of  gaining  such  an  access  to 
the  human  soul.  There  are  some  minds  that  cannot  argue 
nor  appreciate  argument.  They  seem  to  have  no  powers 
of  perception  for  a  logical  sequence.  They  go  by  authori- 
ty, so  far  as  they  are  influenced  by  others,  and  by  mere 
notions  originating  in  themselves.  Then  there  are  others 
who  will  not  attend  to  you.  While  you  are  speaking,  they 
are  conning  a  reply,  not  to  what  you  are  saying,  but  to 
what  they  have  heard  said  by  others  before.  Then,  there 
is  a  third  class,  so  loose,  and  illogical,  and  irrational,  that 
in  one  single  sentence,  you  hear  uttered  or  implied  errors 
enough  to  lay  you  out  work  for  an  hour,  in  taking  them  up 
one  by  one,  for  examination  and  exposure.  You,  however, 
begin  with  one,  but  the  first  sentence  which  you  hear  from 
your  interlocutor  in  regard  to  it,  is  another  shoot  at  ran- 
dom, over  the  field  of  prejudice  and  error,  and  you  give  up 


Ch.  10.]  msTRUCTiox.  SSb 

Way  in  which  human  opinions  are  formed. 

at  once,  in  despair.  Another  person  is  so  entirely  away 
from  you  in  sentiment  and  feeling,  that  you  can  get  no 
common  ground  to  start  from.  His  ideas,  and  feelings, 
and  habits  of  reasoning  are  all  diverse.  He  lives  in  a 
different  moral  and  intellectual  world,  and  you  cannot 
understand  one  another  at  all.  He  takes  principles  for 
granted,  that  you  would  deny,  and  if  you  turn  aside  to 
discuss  one  of  them,  you  take  for  granted,  immediately, 
what  he  does  not  admit,  and  thus  you  have  no  footing. 
Then  there  is  pride,  and  the  power  of  habit,  and  the  in- 
fluence of  association,  and  authority,  and  interest,  and 
the  bias  of  feelings  averse  to  the  sacrifices  which  sound 
moral  principle  requires.  When  we  consider  the  nature 
of  these  elements,  we  shall  moderate  our  ideas  in  respect 
to  the  immediate  effects  which  we  can  hope  to  produce 
upon  them.  Truth  and  logic,  with  all  their  power,  are 
proved  to  be  frail  instruments  among  such  moral  forces  as 
these. 

The  force  of  authority  and  personal  influence,  have  a 
far  greater  control  over  men's  opinions,  and  reason,  far  less 
than  is  generally  imagined.  Suppose,  for  example,  that 
for  the  sake  of  trying  an  experiment  upon  human  mind, 
and  testing  the  real  strength  of  truth,  the  philosophers 
of  England  should  divide  themselves  into  two  parties, 
equal  in  talents  and  numbers,  and  enter  into  a  controversy, 
making  a  question,  for  this  purpose,  of  some  undoubted 
truth.  Let  one  party  maintain,  for  example,  the  truth  that 
the  earth  is  in  motion,  and  the  other,  the  falsehood  that  it 
is  at  rest.  The  latter  would,  of  course,  pretend  that  recent 
discoveries  and  calculations  had  overturned  the  long  re- 
ceived opinions,  and  that,  after  all,  it  was  proved  that  it 
was  the  sun,  not  the  earth  that  revolved.  We  must  sup- 
pose that  this  latter  party  are  equal  in  talents,  and  stand- 
ing, and  influence,  with  the  others,  and  that  they  are 
believed  to  be  honest  and  sincere,  and  that  they  maintain 
their  cause  with  the  same  industry  in  arraying  the  facts 


53(5  ^  THE    WAY    TO    DO    GOOD.  [Ch,    10. 

Be:)Ult  of  the  discussion.  Grounds  of  human  belief. 

which  seem  to  favor  their  cause,  and  in  fabricating  inge- 
nious arguments  which  should  exhibit  the  appearance  of 
mathematical  reasoning.     Suppose  the  discussion  to  go  on 
for  a  half  century,  what  would  be  the  result.'*    *'  Why  every 
man,"  you  would  at  once  reply,  **of  any  intelligence  and 
understanding,  who  would  devote  any  proper  attention  to 
the   subject,  would   be  brought   to  the  right  side.     The 
evidence  for  the  truth  in  this  case,  is  overwhelming."  Very 
well:  admit  it.     But  what  percentage  of  the  whole  mass  of 
any  people,   are  men  of  intelligence  and  understanding, 
and  what  percentage  of  those  would  have  paid  such  atten- 
tion to  the  subject,  as  to  separate  for  themselves  truth  from 
falsehood,   and  to  form  an  independent  judgment  of  the 
case,  and  see  distinctly  the  solidity  of  the  arguments  for 
the  truth,  and  the  fallacy  of  those  for  the  error.''     A  very 
small  one.     The  result  would  probably  be,  that  the  mass 
of  the  people  would  be  divided  between  the  contending 
parties,   pretty   nearly  in  proportion  to  the  numbers,  and 
standing,   and   personal   influence    and   popularity  of  the 
respective  leaders,  and  the  termination  of  the  experiment 
would  show  that  the  opinions  of  mankind  on  almost  any 
subject  which  they  hear    discussed,   and   on  which   they 
f^om  to  form   a  judgment  independently,   rest,  after  all, 
u^jii  the  v/eight  of  authority,  and  not  upon  the  perceived 
conclusiveness  of  the  reasonings. 

It  is  true,  that  on  subjects  of  mathematical  and  physical 
science,  where  there  is,  in  a  general  view  of  the  great 
mass  of  mind,  no  leading  bias  one  way  or  the  other,  there 
cannot  be,  for  a  long  time,  any  such  division  of  authority, 
as  we  have  supposed  in  this  imaginary  case.  The  force 
of  the  argument  will  compel  unanimity  among  leaders,  and 
then  the  influence  of  authority,  will  secure  the  unanimity 
of  the  rest.  But  in  moral  subjects,  this  is  not  so.  Take 
such  a  question  as  the  true  character  and  desert  of  Napo- 
leon Buonaparte.  The  moral  argument  here  will  not 
enforce  unanimity  among  the  leaders  of  mind,  and  the 


Cb.  lO.l  INSTRUCTION.  SS7 


The  way  to  spread  the  truth. 


followers,  swayed  by  tbe  opinions  or  the  representations, 
or  the  personal  influence  of  those  to  whom  they  are  ac- 
customed to  defer,  will  be  divided  too. 

We  cannot  trust,  then,  in  the  expectation  that  truth  will, 
in  a  world  like  this,  necessarily  make  her  way  by  our 
simply  arming  her  with  intellectual  weapons,  and  sending 
her  out  to  fight  against  error.  The  result  of  such  conflicts 
will  generally  depend  more  upon  the  ability  of  the  advo- 
cate, or  rather  upon  his  personal  influence,  than  upon  the 
goodness  of  the  cause. 

I  ought,  however,  perhaps,  to  say  in  conclusion,  though 
it  may  be  scarcely  necessary,  that  this  chapter  relates 
mainly  to  personal  discussion  between  private  Christians 
in  the  ordinary  walks  of  life,  and  not  to  controversy  among 
leading  minds  advocating  diverse  opinions  before  the  pub- 
lic, for  the  purpose  of  eliciting  truth  by  discussion,  or 
placing  on  record,  arguments  to  sustain  it.  This  public 
controversy  has  its  difficulties  and  dangers,  immense  and 
great,  but  this  is  not  the  place  to  exhibit  them.  The 
sphere  of  influence  in  which  this  book  is  intended  to 
move,  is  a  diff*erent  one  altogether.  In  that  sphere  there 
can  be  no  question  that  disputation  should  hold  but 
a  very  low  rank  among  the  means  of  doing  good.  Our 
means  of  promoting  the  spread  of  Christianity,  is  not 
to  effect  triumphs  for  it  in  debate,  but  to  spread  its  gentle 
and  noiseless  influence.  ,  We  are  to  exhibit  it  in  our  lives, 
we  are  to  explain,  and  enforce,  and  exemplify  its  duties. 
We  are  to  express  its  principles,  and  gain,  by  every  means 
in  our  power,  an  influence  for  them  among  our  fellow  men. 
Thus  the  rigidity  of  argumentative  disputation  will  be  re- 
laxed, and  the  moral  influence  of  an  alluring  exhibilion  of 
the  principles  and  duties  of  piety,  will  find  an  easy  way 
where  the  most  severe  and  scientific  theological  arguments 
for  the  truth,  and  refutations  the  most  triumphant  of  error, 
would  find  every  access  barred  and  impregnable. 

These  remarks  apply  with  peculiar  force  to  infidelity.  It 
29 


38  THE    WAY    TO    DO    GOOD.  [Ch.    10. 

Infidelity.  Its  spirit.  Voltaire. 


prevails  to  a  vast  extent  in  the  world,  and  must,  for  some 
time,  continue  to  prevail;  and  although  the  proof  of  the 
truth  ought  to  be  constantly  before  the  community,  so  as 
to  be  accessible  to  every  mind,  yet  to  rely  upon  the 
logical  force  of  arguments,  as  the  main  instrument  for 
the  expulsion  of  infidelity,  is  to  mistake  altogether,  the 
nature  of  its  power.  Infidelity,  as  it  has  generally 
shown  itself  in  this  world,  is  not  candid  philosophical 
doubting  of  the  mind;  it  is  rejection  by  the  heart.  Its 
strength  is  not  in  its  reasonings,  but  in  its  spirit.  It  is 
dislike  to  God,  to  penitence,  humility,  communion  with 
heaven.  It  is  love  of  this  world,  and  of  sin,  and  a  deter- 
mination to  go  on  in  its  own  way,  without  fear  of  a  judgment 
to  come.  It  is  a  spirit  of  hostility  to  God,  and  to  his  reign, 
and  a  determination  not  to  s»bmit  to  it.  Now  such  a  spirit, 
logic  and  reasoning  can  never  change, — they  do  not  even 
tend  to  change  it. 

The  spirit  of  infidelity ; — the  lofty  genius  of  Voltaire  has 
embalmed  and  preserved  its  deformed  and  malignant 
visage,  for  all  time,  and  we  fear  that  his  wretched  soul 
will  find  that  he  has  done  it  for  all  eternity  too,  by  his 
famous  watch-word,  "  Crush  the  wretch,"  applied  to  Jesus 
of  Nazareth.  Read  the  Savior's  life, — consider  his  char- 
acter, his  mild,  unoffending,  gentle  spirit, — his  labors  for 
the  good  of  his  race, — his  patience,  his  forgiveness, — hiss 
cruel  wrongs,  and  the  submissive,  quiet,  unruffled  spirit, 
with  which  he  bore  them.  Read  the  whole  story,  and 
think  of  such  words  as  ^^  Crush  the  ivretch,'  applied  to  him. 
Oh,  Voltaire,  Voltaire,  sad  indeed,  must  have  been  the 
moral  state  of  the  heart  which  could  have  been  aroused  to 
anger,  by  the  story  of  Jesus  of  Nazareth;  sad  the  heart 
which  could  call  that  homeless  victim  of  toil,  and  of  patient 
suffering  for  others,  a  wretch,  and  which  could  meet  his 
kind  invitations,  by  a  cry  uttered  forth  to  the  whole  civilized 
world,  to  arise  and  crush  him.  Do  these  malignant 
passioas  still  burn  in  thy  bosom,  against  him  who  would 


Ch.  11.]  CONCLUSION.  339 

Conclusion.  Plan  completed.  Recapitulation. 

fain  have  saved  thy  soul .''  We  fear  they  do,  for  the  strength 
of  angry  passion  which  sent  forth  that  defiance,  could  carry 
it  but  a  little  way  towards  the  eternal  throne  of  the  Son  of 
God.  The  lapse  of  years  shows  that  throne  standing 
firmer  than  ever,  and  thy  malediction  has  fallen  back  upon 
thine  own  head,  and  thou  thyself  art  the  crushed  wretch 
now,  for  ever. 


CHAPTER   XL 

CONCLUSION. 


The  plan  which  I  had  marked  out  for  myself  in  the 
volumes  of  which  this  is  the  o|||nclusion,  being  now  accom- 
plished, nothing  remains  but  for  me  simply  to  recapitulate 
some  of  the  fundamental  principles  on  which  the  views 
maintained  in  these  works,  are  based,  and  then  to  bid  my 
readers  farewell. 

These  principles  may  be  briefly  enumerated  thus. 

1.  Lofty  and  cxpanded^views  of  the  character  and  gov- 
ernment of  God.  I  have  endeavored  to  lead  the  reader  to 
look  upon  Jehovah  as  the  Universal  Spirit,  pervading,  and 
sustaining  all  things; — and  to  draw  him  away  from  the 
absurd  image  of  ivory  and  gold,  which  the  imagination  of 
childhood  paints,  out  into  the  mighty  universe  which  spreads 
itself  inimitably  all  around  us,  and  shows  us  God's  doings 
and  character,  in  all  the  physical  phenomena  of  nature, 
and  in  all  the  social  and  economical  relations  of  man. 

Such  views  of  the  great  Jehovah,  will  alone  free  the 
mind  from  virtual  idolatry.  They  alone  will  light  up  all 
nature  with  an  expression  from  God,  and  enable  us  to 
realize,  in  the  most  complete  and  thorough  manner,  his 
continual  presence  and  agency. 

I  ought,  however,  to  warn  my  readers  very  distinctly 
of  one   danger  arising   from   this   view,  and  that  is,  that 


340  THE    WAY   TO    DO   GOOD.  [CK   11 


Views  of  God.  Pantheisin. 


by  considering  God  as  the  universal  agency,  operating 
throughout  the  universe,  they  may  lose  sight  of  his  per- 
sonalily.  We  may  feel  that  God  is  the  great  Universal 
Cause,  and  forget  that  he  is  a  watchful,  moral  governor 
over  every  one  of  us.  This  is  Pantheism.  It  makes 
every  thing  God,  and  while  it  extends  every  where  his 
presence,  it  destroys  his  personality.  It  has  been  a  very 
common  way  by  which  men  have  escaped  from  the  moral 
control  of  their  Maker.  Philosophers  discovered  it,  and  it 
has  been,  in  every  age,  considered  a  very  adroit,  and 
beautiful  mode,  of  escaping  from  the  claims  of  repentance 
and  faith  in  Christ.  It  is  the  way  chosen  by  the  philoso- 
phers, the  educated,  the  refined.  They  change  Jehovah 
from  a  person  to  a  principle,  they  lose  all  sense  of  his 
moral  watchfulness  over  th^,  and  of  their  accountability 
to  him.  In  fact,  his  very  individuality  is  gone,  and  all  the 
pressure  of  accountability  to  him,  on  their  part,  goes  with 
it, — and  yet  they  pride  themselves  upon  the  loftiness  of 
their  religious  position,  and  retain  and  pervert  all  the 
phraseology  of  piety,  to  help  them  in  the  deception.  They 
admire  nature,  and  call  it  adoring  God. 

Now  we  must  beware  of  this  danger,  and  as  we  expand 
our  views  of  the  divine  character,  and  begin  to  conceive 
of  him  as  the  eternal  and  omnipresent  spirit,  we  must 
not  destroy  his  personality,  nor  lose  sight,  for  a  moment, 
of  that  strict  and  solemn  accountability,  to  which  he  holds 
every  intelligent  creature  that  he  has  formed. 

2.  It  has  been  another  design  of  this  work,  to  lead  the 
reader  to  deep  convictions  of  his  own  moral  helplessness, 
as  a  sinner  against  God,  and  of  the  necessity  of  a  radical 
change  by  the  influences  of  the  Holy  Spirit.  The  degree 
of  hopelessness  and  helplessness  of  a  confirmed  bad  char- 
acter, of  any  kind,  is  something  which  men  feel,  and 
understand,  but  which  they  do  not  like  to  express  in 
language ;  for  they  cannot  express  it,  without  encroaching 
upon  their  theories  of  free  agency.     The  strength  and  the 


Ch.   11.]  CONCLUSION.  341 

The  slavery  of  sin.  Freedom,  Bondage. 

weight  of  the  chain  with  which  any  established  habit,  or 
besetting  sin  binds  the  victim  of  it,  is  a  great  restriction  to 
the  boundless  freedom  which  we  love  to  attribute  to  the 
human  soul.  One  kind  of  freedom  is  indeed  boundless, 
in  man, — the  freedom  with  which  the  mental  acts  flow 
from  the  reigning  desires.  There  is  no  outward  restraint. 
The  band  which  enthrals  the  human  soul,  is  an  iron  rigidity 
within,  and  they  who  have  ever  really  undertaken  to  grapple 
with  any  one  sin,  and  to  root  it  out  from  its  place  in  the 
heart,  will  feel  that  sin  is,  after  all,  a  slavery, — bitter, 
helpless,  hopeless  slavery. 

Hopeless, — that  is,  if  the  poor  victim  is  left  unaided,  in 
his  struggles  to  get  free.  We  may  restrain  the  outward 
transgression,  by  such  considerations  as  we  may  force 
before  our  minds,  but  how  shUl  we  compel  these  deceitful 
and  corrupt  hearts  to  cease  from  loving  transgression,  and 
wishing  that  it  might  be  safely  indulged.  A  case  of  con- 
firmed intemperance  illustrates  the  difBcuIty.  I  have 
known  such  a  victim,  of  kind  feelings,  of  honesty,  upright- 
ness, intelligence, — made  the  slave  of  the  great  destroyer 
of  men, — and  in  his  days  of  reflection  he  wotild  mourn  and 
weep  over  his  ruin, — his  broken-hearted  wife,  his  suffering 
children, — and  resolve,  and  promise,  and  fix  himself  in  the 
utmost  firmness  of  human  determination,  that  he  would 
never  yield  to  temptation  again.  But  the  hour  of  tempta- 
tion came,  and  his  decision  and  firmness  would  melt  away. 
With  all  his  struggles,  it  would  seem  to  him  that  he  could 
not  resist. 

Could  he  or  could  he  not?  Was  he  free,  or  was  he  not 
free?  Ah!  he  was  free,  and  that  very  liberty  was  his 
destruction;  for  it  was  freedom  to  act  according  to  the 
reigning  desires  of  his  heart,  and  these  desires  have  been 
hopelessly  corrupted  by  long  habits  of  sin.  So  with  the 
soul  in  its  attitude  towards  its  Maker.  With  feelings  averse 
to  God,  and  to  holy  happiness,  and  these  steady,  perma- 
nent, and  tending  to  perpetuate  themselves, — and  then 
29* 


542  THE    WAY    TO    DO    GOOD.  [Ch.   II. 

Unlimited  freedom.  The  difficulty.  StiflTering. 

entire,  and  unlimited  freedom  to  act  according  to  those 
desires,  its  case  is  hopeless.  If  a  moral  restraint  from 
without,  could  intervene,  there  might  be  a  hope  of  salva- 
tion; but  when  the  desires  are  wrong,  to  be  left  to  perfect 
freedom,  is  to  make  destruction  sure.  So  that  the  entire, 
unconditional  liberty  of  the  sinner  who  is  left  to  his  own 
ways,  is  the  very  key-stone  of  his  dungeon;  it  makes  his 
moral  ruin  perpetual  and  hopeless.  A  thorough  under- 
standing of  this,  will  lead  to  a  self-abandonment,  and  a 
surrender  to  the  Savior,  so  complete  and  unconditional, 
as  to  give  real  peace  and  happiness  to  the  most  wounded 
soul.  It  is  this,  only,  which  lays  the  proper  foundation  for 
happy  piety. 

That  this  view  of  the  lost  and  helpless  condition  of  man, 
is  the  true  one,  the  study  o^our  own  hearts,  observation 
of  mankind,  and  the  Word  of  God,  combine  to  furnish  a 
triple  proof;  and  there  is  nothing  to  oppose  to  it,  but 
theoretical  difficulty.  "For  how,"  asks  the  unbeliever, 
'*  can  you  reconcile  such  views  of  the  hopeless  ruin  of  an 
immortal  being,  with  the  power,  and  benevolence,  and 
holiness  of  God." 

I  cannot  reconcile  them, — and  so  the  squirrel,  whose 
limb  a  sportsman  has  shot  away  for  his  amusement,  crawl- 
ing into  his  hole  in  agony,  presents  a  spectacle  which  it  is 
equally  impossible  to  reconcile  with  the  power,  and  bene- 
volence, and  holiness  of  God.  You  cannot  take  a  step 
towards  the  solution  of  either  one  of  them; — not  a  single 
step.  Men  have  talked  and  reasoned  about  the  existence 
of  sin  and  suffering,  and  attempted  to  explain  them;  and 
there  is  no  impropriety  in  such  speculations; — but  they 
make  no  progress  whatever,  in  making  it  plain  to  the 
human  mind,  how  a  single  instance  of  sin  and  suffering 
can  possibly  exist  in  a  world  governed  by  spotless  holiness, 
and  by  boundless  power.  But  when  you  have  explained 
how  there  can  be  one  hour  of  sin  and  suffering,  the  diffi- 
culty is  all  over,  for  the  explanation  will  answer  as  well  for 


Ch.  ll.J  CONCLUSION.  343 

Existence  of  suffering  inexplicable. 

the  second  hour  as  the  first,  and  for  every  succeeding  oae. 
Just  as  when  you  have  explained  the  formation  of  one 
drop,  you  have  explained  the  whole  shower, — and  not  only 
that  one,  but  all  other  showers  that  ever  have  fallen,  or 
will  fall  for  ever.  Vast  and  insuperable,  therefore,  as  are  the 
difficulties  which  hang  over  the  prospect  of  the  utter  and 
perpetual  moral  ruin  of  any  man,  they  are  all  removed  by 
explaining  any  single  instance  of  sin  and  suffering.  Tell 
me  how  Judas  could  have  betrayed  his  Master,  and  suffer- 
ed such  remorse  and  anguish  for  it,  while  on  earth,  and  I 
will  tell  you  how  it  can  be,  that  he  is  sinning  and  suffering 
now;  and  I  will  repeat  the  explanation,  for  any  other  hour 
of  his  future  existence,  whenever  you  may  call  for  it. 

The  theoretical  difficulty,  then,  while  we  acknowledge 
its  force,  ought  not  to  operate  as  a  presumption  against 
what  our  own  experience,  and  the  Word  of  God,  unite  to 
maintain,  for  the  difficulty  applies  equally  to  what  we  hioiv 
to  exist,  and  therefore,  though  it  appears  insuperable  to 
us,  we  are  compelled  to  believe  that  there  is  a  solution  for 
it;  and  the  solution  which  will  cover  one  case,  will  cover 
all.  The  difficulty  is  not  increased  by  multiplying  the 
cases  to  which  it  will  apply.  Every  separate  portion  of  * 
the  existence  of  a  fallen  angel,  or  of  a  fallen  man,  may  be 
considered  a  distinct  example  of  the  existence  of  sin  and 
suffering;  and  whenever  we  are  able  to  see  the  compati- 
bility of  one  of  them,  with  the  boundless  power  and  love  of 
the  Supreme,  we  shall  understand  the  compatibility  of  all. 

The  doctrine  of  the  bible,  then,  is,  that  sin  perpetuates 
itself;  and  we  see  and  feel  this,  its  essential  tendency,  in 
all  our  experience  of  its  nature.  It  does  it,  however,  not 
by  any  compulsion  from  without,  forcing  man  to  sin,  con- 
trary to  his  desires,  but  by  changing  and  corrupting  those 
desires,  and  setting  them  permanently  in  the  wrong  direc- 
tion. The  desires  and  the  heart  thus  corrupted,  and 
alienated  from  God,  freedom,  of  itself,  becomes  ruin,  and 
any  one  who  looks  into  his  soul,  with  careful  self-examina- 


tN4  THE    WAY    to    DO    GOOD.  [Ch.    11. 

Christ  the  atoning  sacrifice.  Tlie  way  of  peace. 

tion,  to  study  its  feelings  towards  God,  and  to  make  them 
what  they  ought  to  be,  will  find,  after  a  few  hard  and  weary 
struggles,  that  the  representations  of  the  bible  in  respect 
to  the  deathlike  helplessness  of  the  sinner,  are  too  true. 
I  have  wished  to  draw  the  reader  to  these  views.  They 
are,  I  am  convinced,  fundamentally  necessary.  They, 
and  they  only,  will  lead  to  that  humble  attitude  before 
God,  and  that  simple  reliance  on  his  Spirit,  which  will  lead 
to  any  proper  progress  in  piety. 

4.  It  has  been  the  intention  of  this  work  to  lead  the 
sinner  to  trust  in  the  suflJerings  and  death  of  Jesus  Christ, 
as  the  atoning  sacrifice,  by  which  it  becomes  just  and  safe 
to  forgive  his  sins.  We  escape  a  great  many  philosophical 
difliiculties,  I  admit,  by  rejecting  this  view,  and  considering 
Jesus  Christ  as  only  a  human  teacher  of  moral  and  reli- 
gious truth;  but  with  the  diflSculties,  we  lose  all  the  life 
and  spirit  of  piety.  The  human  soul  has  always,  in  every 
country  and  in  every  age,  hungered  and  thirsted  for  a 
sacrifice  for  its  sins,  and  it  always  will.  The  mind  of  man 
is  so  constituted,  that  it  must  instinctively  feel  that  there 
is  something  incomplete  and  unfinished  in  transgression, 
until  punishment,  or  something  to  take  the  place  of  punish- 
ment, has  ensued.  You  cannot  quiet  a  child  whose  con- 
science is  wounded  by  some  wrong  towards  yourself,  that 
he  has  done,  by  simply  saying  you  will  forgive  him.  There 
is  a  moral  instinct  that  expects  something  more.  So  the 
soul,  in  its  maturity,  when  conscience  is  wounded  by  its 
sins  against  God,  cannot  be  completely  soothed,  by  offering 
to  it  mere  forgiveness.  There  may  be,  possibly,  repent- 
ance, as  we  have  before  shown,  without  a  very  distinct 
knowledge  of  the  Savior;  and  also  a  very  great  diminution 
of  anxiety, — but  there  cannot  be  perfect  peace.  Foreboding 
fears  will  linger  in  the  heart,  and  anxious  solicitude  about 
the  future,  disturb  its  hopes  of  pardon.  Then,  besides,  a 
vital  union  with  the  Son  of  God,  as  the  Redeemer  and 
Keeper  of  the  soul,  «?uch  a  connection  with  him   as  tho 


Ch.  11.]  CONCLUSION.  345 

The  soul  thirsts  for  it.  Difficulties. 

Great  Mediator,  the  Justifier,  constitutes  the  great  moral 
means  of  defence  against  future  sin.  It  is  the  refuge  to 
which  the  soul  flies  in  its  hours  of  trial,  feeling  that  such  a 
connection  is  just  what  it  wants,  and  what  it  must  have. 
We  make  resolutions,  and  break  them.  We  renew  them 
in  hours  of  solitude  and  reflection,  but  when  we  are  again 
in  the  world,  they  are  again  disregarded  and  forgotten, — 
bad  principles  and  bad  passions  gradually  and  insensibly 
gain  the  mastery  over  us,  and  after  repeated  efforts  and 
struggles,  each  returning  hour  of  solitude  and  reflection, 
finds  our  condition  more  hopeless  than  before.  Discour- 
aged, disheartened,  and  almost  in  despair,  the  soul  pauses 
in  gloomy  doubt,  whether  to  renew  again  the  hopeless  toil, 
or  give  up  all.  Now  it  is  at  such  a  time  as  this,  that  the 
soul  understands  and  feels  the  meaning  of  flying  to  Jesus, 
— appropriating  his  righteousness, — looking  up  for  pardon, 
through  his  atoning  sufferings, — and,  in  utter  self-aban- 
donment, casting  all  on  him.  You  cannot  make  this 
phraseology  intelligible  to  a  worldly  man,  while  in  the 
midst  of  his  worldliness,  and  never  feeling  the  bitterness 
and  the  weight  of  the  bondage  of  sin.  But  they  who  have 
felt  these  burdens,  almost  always  find  in  the  atoning  suffer- 
ings of  a  divine  Redeemer,  just  such  a  refuge  as  they 
most  eagerly  desire.  It  always  has  been  so,  in  all  ages  of 
the  world.  The  most  devoted  and  consistent  piety  has 
always  been  coupled  with  the  most  distinct  conceptions  of 
the  utter  ruin  and  helplessness  of  man,  and  of  his  sole 
reliance  on  the  influences  of  the  Holy  Spirit,  for  his  sanc- 
tification,  and  on  the  obedience  and  atoning  sufferings  of 
a  divine  Redeemer,  for  his  justification  and  pardon. 

I  do  not  deny  that  philosophical  acumen  may  involve 
these  views  in  very  serious  and  real  difficulties;  and  so 
it  may  any  other  subject  whatever,  that  has  as  many 
relations  as  this  has,  to  the  unseen,  spiritual  world. 
There  will  always  be  plenty  of  difficulties,  where  any  one 
is  interested  to  find  them.     Our  wisest  course,  therefore 


S46  THE    WAY    TO    DO    GOOD.  [Ch.   11. 

Disposal  of  the  difficulties.  The  church  and  the  denominations. 

te,  to  take  home  to  our  souls  the  view  which  is  so  clearly 
fitted  for  them,  and  which  the  obvious  meaning  of  Scrip- 
ture plainly  authorizes;  and  to  leave  the  difficuUies  for 
another  day. 

In  respect  to  redemption  by  Jesus  Christ,  and  the  philo- 
sophical objections  which  may  be  urged  against  it,  the  soul 
will  feel  when  it  is  really  burdened  with  its  sins,  as  a 
thirsty  man  before  a  fountain  of  water,  with  Berkeley  by 
his  side,  attempting  to  prove  to  him  that  it  is  no  reality. 
Though  he  cannot  reply  to  the  subtle  argument,  he  will 
drink  and  quench  his  thirst;  and  so  will  we. 

5.  I  have  wished  to  inculcate  liberal  views  in  respect  to 
all  the  essentials  of  Christianity.  Just  in  proportion  as  the 
mind  is  turned  away  from  the  consideration  of  the  moral 
ruin  of  man,  and  of  the  direct  application  of  the  great 
moral  and  spiritual  remedy  as  widely  as  possible, — and  is 
occupied  about  forms  and  organizations,  and  the  details  of 
theological  speculations,  just  in  that  proportion  will  true 
piety  decline,  true,  genuine  love  for  the  souls  of  men  grow 
cool,  and  the  subject  become  a  partisan,  a  disputant,  a 
manager,  suspicious  and  jealous  of  sister  branches  of  the 
church,  and  a  dead  weight  upon  the  Savior's  cause.  We 
want  to  have  our  souls  strongly  interested  in  promoting,  by 
any  proper  means,  the  salvation  of  men  from  their  sins;  and 
while  we  are  steady  and  faithful  in  our  attachment  to  the 
institutions  and  forms  with  which  we  have  been  connected, 
we  shall,  if  our  hearts  are  i-eally  set  upon  the  promotion  of 
God's  cause,  rejoice  in  the  success  of  other  laborers,  and 
allow  them  to  love  their  institutions  and  their  modes  of 
operation,  as  we  love  ours. 

6.  These  works  have  endeavored  to  exhibit  piety,  as 
active,  —  going  forth  to  the  work  of  promoting  holiness 
and  happiness  of  every  kind,  and  in  every  degree.  This 
comparative  diminution  of  interest  in  one's  own  private 
and  personal  pursuits,  and  desire  to  engage  as  a  co- 
operator  with  God  in  promoting  universal  good,  is  at  once, 


Ch.  11.]  CONCLUSION  347 


Various  modes  of  doing  good. 


the  fruit  and  the  evidence  of  piety;  and  the  degree  of 
genuine,  heartfelt,  persevering,  interest  with  which  we 
engage  in  our  Master's  work,  is  perhaps  the  best  measure 
of  the  degree  in  which  we  possess  his  spirit.  I  have 
endeavored  to  delineate  the  temper  and  the  feelings  with 
which  this  work  should  be  done.  This  spirit,  I  have  rep- 
resented as  mild,  gentle,  patient,  unobtrusive.  It  should 
take  this  form  generally  among  those  for  whom  these 
books  are  chiefly  written.  While,  however,  in  our  ordi- 
nary intercourse  with  mankind,  we  act  in  this  gentle  man- 
ner, we  ought  not  to  feel  that  all  violent  collision  with  sin 
is  wrong,  and  condemn  those,  who,  from  the  circumstances 
in  which  Providence  has  placed  them,  are  led  to  engage 
in  more  violent  struggles  with  sin.  Such  violent  struggles 
are  sometimes,  though  perhaps  seldom,  unavoidable,  and 
we  must  not  feel  irritation  or  anger  against  those  who  use, 
what  we  considt^r,  harsh  or  severe  language  in  denounc- 
iti  sin,  or  in  measures  to  oppose  it.  Jesus  Christ  could 
rebuK  i<arply  j^e  once  drove  sinners  away  from  their 
work  01  vi'ickedness,  with  a  scourge ;  he  described  a  class 
of  guilty  men  as  a  generation  of  vipers,  and  called  one  of 
ais  disciples  a  devil.  This  should  not,  indeed,  lead  us  to 
nabits  of  severity  and  denunciation,  but  it  should,  at  least, 
mitigate  the  censorious  feelings  which  we  are  prone  to 
cherish  towards  those  who  rebuke  sin  with  a  bluntness 
which  we  ourselves  should  not  think  of  imitating.  Moral 
remedies  are  as  various  as  moral  diseases,  and  he  to  whom 
Providence  has,  by  circumstances,  or  by  constitutional 
temperament,  committed  one  class  of  them,  should  not 
censure  harshly,  those  who  have  been  entrusted  with 
another.  John  ought  not  frown  at  the  boldness  of  Peter, 
nor  Peter  look  with  contempt  upon  the  mildness  and 
gentleness  of  John, 

My  work  is  done.     It  is  four  years  since  these  illustra- 
tions of  Christianity  were  commenced;   and  the  pen  was 


Sn  THE    WAY  TO    DO   GOOD.  [Ch.    11 

The  author's  farewell. 

taken  up  with  much  hesitation  and  fear.  So  great  has 
been  the  indulgence,  however,  with  which  these  humble 
attempts  have  been  received,  both  in  England  and  Ameri- 
ca, that  I  find  myself  in  the  midst  of  a  vast  assemblage, 
now  that  I  am  about  to  take  my  leave.  I  tremble  to  think 
of  the  responsibility  I  have  been  bearing, — a  responsibility 
whose  extent  and  magnitude  I  so  little  foresaw.  May  God 
forgive  all  that  has  been  wrong,  either  in  writer  or  readers, 
and  make  use  of  these  volumes  as  an  humble  part  of  that 
mighty  instrumentality,  which  He  is  now  employing,  to 
bnng  back  this  lost  world  again  to  Him. 


END. 


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